Sign Ups and Takedowns
by PartSpace
Summary: Archangel was building an impressive team and putting one heck of a dent in the merc's hold on Omega. According to his contact on Illium, they were scared. Good. Let their leaders squirm a little before he takes them out. One. By. One.  Language/Violence
1. Chapter 1

**Hullo, all. Welcome to my first fanfic. The story chronicles the exploits of Archangel, between ME1 and 2. Yes, your version of Shepard is mentioned. Pretty awesome, that. I'll be uploading new chapters pretty regularly, and am really far ahead of what I've posted, but writing is rewriting and I am still making constant edits before I post.** **Comments and critiques are welcome, of course. **

**Garrus and all other characters and settings within the story are owned by Bioware.  
**

* * *

"Hey. Archangel."

It was a batarian who spoke, his low rumbling voice full of menace. The turian he addressed tensed and looked up, his wary expression hidden behind his helmet. The batarian was bigger than most, broad shouldered and barrel chested. A tattoo marking him as a member of the Blue Suns mercenary band traced over the curve of his narrow chin and down the front of his sinewy neck. Fleshy lips curled back into a sneer as his fingers flexed on his automatic weapon, the barrel of which was pointed at the head of another turian who was far too young to find himself in a mess like this.

Despite the danger, the young man at the wrong end of the rifle stood tall with his mandibles tight and close to his face in a turian version of a scowl. His dark, defiant gaze was locked on Archangel.

Archangel let out a weary sigh and stood up straight, arms crossed. "You've _got_ to be kidding me. How old are you?"

The young turian's eyes flashed with anger, and he pointed at the masked man before him. "I'm here, aren't I?" Here happened to be one of Archangel's smaller bases of operations. He had a few peppered around Omega, just in case one got compromised. This base was on the far west side of the asteroid, towards the edge of Blood Pack territory. In its former life it had been a drug store, now empty and abandoned after the previous owner couldn't keep up with his protection payments. Besides the squad leader and the armed batarian, there was another turian and two dangerous looking humans here, all watching the scene apprehensively with hands resting on weapons. In a back room through an open door, the young turian spied a salarian sitting bent over a workbench, oblivious to the rest of the world thanks to a pair of headphones. "Got your attention, got you to meet with me, does it really matter how old I am?"

Grimacing, Archangel motioned for the batarian, a former merc named Erash, to lower his weapon. "You're Melanis?" Archangel asked, his voice slightly mechanic as it came through the helmet that completely obscured his face.

"Yeah," said the kid, arms crossing as he shifted from foot to foot, puffing out his chest.

_He's posturing. Trying to convince us he's a badass_, Archangel thought, studying him. The kid's carapace probably just hardened up completely this morning, losing the soft pliability of childhood. Too damn young for his business. Too damn young for Omega. Melanis was lean and pale, and across his face was what looked like a fresh marking that he probably did himself. The red circular design was not of any merc band, nor of any turian tribe or lineage. Oddly enough, it was a human symbol that was adopted by the rest of this rock. It arched over his forehead, down his cheeks, and then darted up his mandibles. The horseshoe shape let everyone know where he came from; the symbol was that of Omega.

This was why Archangel kept his face covered. A turian couldn't ever be truly anonymous. He wore his background on his face for all the world to see. The color of his own was a specific shade of Citadel blue, while the design was a nod to his mother's proud tribe back on Pavalen. Sure, there were the chemical scrubs that could remove markings, leaving the carapace of the face bare and pale like an infant's. Of course, being barefaced came with its own set of problems. A barefaced man has something to hide, is ashamed of his heritage, and is not to be trusted.

None of that was true of the man behind the name Archangel. He had nothing to hide, he was a proud turian, and he was undoubtedly the most trustworthy man on this station. The problem was he was a marked man, and those who knew his face would know his family. What better way to get back at a proud, trustworthy enemy than to slaughter his family?

Archangel's mask remained on almost constantly. At least when he was conducting business.

"He probably hasn't even done his comp-15." This came from Sidonis, the other turian on Archangel's crew, who was leaning against the far doorway, arms crossed. He referred to the compulsory fifteen years of military duty every turian was expected to serve. At least, those living in turian colonies. A kid growing up on Omega might slip through the cracks and get out of his service time. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun?"

Melanis huffed with annoyance. "I know how to shoot a gun, okay?"

"Any idiot can shoot a gun," Archangel murmured, eyes narrowing. "The key is knowing how and when to use it effectively."

Melanis rolled his eyes in the exaggerated manner of a juvenile, his head rocking back. "I know how to use a gun! I've killed like six Blue Suns this month!"

"Like six? A kid like you would be keeping a definite body count," Sidonis spoke up again, stepping closer to Melanis and Archangel. "We have been watching you since you started that brawl at Kersha's club. You sent six to the clinic, sure, but nobody died that day."

Archangel held up a hand, glancing over at Sidonis, his voice admonishing but calm. "We aren't mercs, we don't need anybody going on a killing spree as part of some screwed up initiation."

Melanis, who had brightened when Sidonis mentioned that he was being watched by the infamous Archangel and his band, was now grimacing and looking a little frantic. "I need-" he stopped, huffed, and started again, "Look, I've got good reason to be here. Nobody wants to fight for what you're doing more than me."

"Nobody?" It was an amused Archangel who repeated Melanis' words this time. He glanced about the room, then nodded to the batarian guard who had escorted Melanis in. "Erash, why are you here?"

Erash blinked his four eyes at his name, his thoughts having been a million miles away while the two turians grilled the possible recruit. After Archangel repeated his question, the batarian scowled. "Too many innocents," he murmured a bit cryptically, scratching at his tattoo.

"And your brother?"

"Vortash?" Erash's brows lifted, and he shrugged. "His girl…" Erash grimaced as he trailed off, and shook his head, looking back down at his rifle. "Too many innocents," he grunted again.

Archangel's helmet turned to look at the scarred salarian who was still bent over a workbench in the back room. He was cheerfully and methodically making a large pile of grenades as he hummed softly to himself under his headphones. "Mierin." No response. Archangel's mouth opened to call out to his teammate again in a louder voice, but he quickly shut it again. It was probably best to let the salarian work without disturbance, considering the small ball of highly explosive putty that was currently in his hands. "Mierin," Archangel said, turning back to Melanis, "lost his whole family to Eclipse and damn near died himself. One big explosion. Boom."

"Ripper," Sidonis chimed in helpfully, and Archangel nodded.

"Hell, Ripper. Blood Pack took his right arm and a nice chunk of his face clean off. Lucky for us, he's one of those rare ambidextrous humans. Those two there," he motioned to the remaining two squad members in the room, "well. Butler is fighting for his kids' future, and Weaver," the older of the two men flashed a smile, "has been fighting mercs a long time. He picked Omega as his last hurrah." Archangel folded his hands behind his back, stepping closer to the young turian and lowering his voice.

"If you're not on the take, you've got a reason you want every last merc on this station to disappear. Everyone here has a good reason. So does everyone out there," he motioned with a hand towards the rest of Omega. "What separates us from them is the fact that we aren't going to put our heads down or play nice or try not to get involved. We kill the bad guys. We've all given up everything we have left in the universe in a crazy, suicidal attempt to make it a better place."

Melanis had gone silent and was slowly deflating. His tough guy front was melting away, and he wore a frown as he looked up at the featureless helmet of Archangel. "My parents," he said at last, voice low. "They were Suns. Mom got double crossed and killed on a job, and Dad wanted out. But you don't just leave." The young turian dropped his gaze, mandibles twitching. "They got him at the loading dock when we were waiting on the cruiser out of here."

Archangel was silent for a beat, gaze never leaving Melanis. Finally, he spoke. "When was this?"

"Nine months ago." Melanis took in a deep breath, forcing himself back into a strong stance as he found his second wind. He wasn't going to give up just yet. "And you know what? You don't want me? That's fine. I need to get back at them, but I don't need you. Just don't try to-"

"Sidonis, find this kid some armor that's thicker than the tin foil he's got on now," Archangel called out casually, turning back to the table and picking up a datapad.

Both Sidonis and Melanis were momentarily frozen to the spot while Weaver let out laugh, tickled by their stunned expressions.

Sidonis blinked and shook his head as if to clear the dirt out of his ears. He stepped quickly to Archangel's side, "Since when are we running a damn orphanage here, Archangel?"

"He hospitalized six Suns-"

"He got the jump on six drunken _humans_."

Archangel turned to give Sidonis a glare, the intensity of which was evident even with a thick dark visor covering his eyes. "He hospitalized six Suns," he hissed, "so now they know him and are going to be gunning for him as much as he is for them. We are not throwing him out to the wolves wearing that getup and carrying that shitty plastic peashooter he's got on his hip. Get him some proper armor, teach him how to shoot a real gun, and then take him to the Eclipse docks for some target practice." His head tilted, wry smile evident in his voice, "Talk about girls. Music. Blasto. Whatever the hell kids are into these days. _Bond_."

Melanis was over his shock and was now reveling in giddy disbelief. "Are you serious? I'm in? You were screwing with me, weren't you? Holy shit." He laughed, turning to look at Erash, raising his arms in triumph and announcing, "I'm in!"

Sidonis watched Melanis, mandibles twitching in irritation. He was not looking forward to playing damn babysitter. He shot Archangel one last dark look and finally, he stepped away, shoving Melanis towards the exit with a gruff, "Let's go, Junior."

Erash gave the pair a wide berth as they departed, and suddenly raised a hand to his ear. Archangel looked quickly at the batarian, tense again as he waited for Erash to relay whatever message he was receiving. But the batarian frowned, shaking his head. "It's for you. Illium."

Archangel sighed and nodded, scooping up a mobile comm platform from the table and turning towards a back room. "Vortash and Sensat check in yet?" The pair of them was running surveillance on the Blood Pack base. His squad had hit the Blood Pack hard the previous night, and Garm would not be happy. He'd waste no time regrouping and coming up with a plan. They needed to hit again and fast before he had the opportunity. His scouts were going to radio them in when a chance to take the leader out presented itself.

"Not yet, sir."

Archangel held up the comm unit, "Bother me only if they do." With that, he disappeared into the back room and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Garrus Vakarian no longer existed. Not really. Sure, the more trusted members of his squad knew the name. They might even know that he once worked with the legendary human Shepard. But that was a lifetime ago and half a galaxy away. Reapers, geth, rogue Spectres… these things weren't of any immediate concern on Omega, not if you were lucky to make it home at night without losing a few teeth. Here, Shepard was nothing but a bedtime story, closer to fiction than the hard realities the people here faced every day.

Garrus sat with a long, weary sigh, slipping a hand under the helmet to rub his eyes. He dropped the comm unit on the desk before him and settled the helmet back into place, making sure his face was completely obscured. He tapped a key, booting up the voice distortion application. Not a precaution he always took. His contact on Illium didn't need to know who he was. No one needed to know who he was anymore. He was Archangel.

Butler liked to call him "the goddamn Batman," something that he needed about ten minutes to explain one quiet night, the rarity of which was celebrated with a round of drinks. "He's an old human folk hero. Vigilante. Runs around at night, fighting crime." Butler had said.

"Why is he called Batman?" Garrus asked.

"Because he's trying to be scary. Bats are scary."

"Bats aren't scary," Garrus protested, shaking his head and lifting his bottle of quarian beer. "Only an idiot walks around with a bat to fight crime. If I showed up at the Blood Pack base with a bat in my hand I would get my ass ripped to shreds."

The humans burst into laughter, and Butler quickly explained, "No, no, the animal. He dresses up like one. A bat is this creepy animal-"

"Like a varren?"

"No, it's…" Butler had brought his hands together before him as if to describe the animal's size, but stopped abruptly, lips twisting up in thought. He leaned back, nodding quickly, "Yeah, like a varren. But with wings."

"And it sucks blood," Ripper had added.

"Right, that too."

Flying blood-sucking varren roamed the wilds of Earth? Garrus gave a slow appreciative nod, "I could be Batman."

Garrus adjusted his helmet once more before accepting the call from Illium. "This is Archangel."

The screen flickered a moment, before displaying the image of a pretty asari with a low melodic voice. "Archangel. Thank you for taking my call; I know how busy you are."

"Happy to make time for you, Dr. T'Soni. What have you got for me?"

Liara T'Soni smiled politely at the mysterious turian. "Eclipse put out a call. They are looking for both recruits and freelancers."

Garrus arched a brow behind his helmet. "Open recruitment? When's the last time they did that?"

"A little under two years ago," she answered in her usual clipped and formal tone, glancing to one corner of her screen.

_After Shepard died_, Garrus thought glumly to himself. The commander gave Eclipse, shit, all the mercenary gangs a hell of a time back in the day. Kill off enough of them and eventually you're going to need to boost your numbers again. When it was safe. Garrus slowly sat upright, grinning crookedly. He was Shepard this time. He had them scared. He was a threat. That gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

"They've also been chartering shuttles to Omega. Apparently they're moving larger numbers into your area, Archangel," Liara continued, looking back at him with no expression. "I think you may have upset them."

Garrus chuckled, nodding, "That is a distinct possibility. Funny how explosions can do that, huh?"

"Mm," the asari responded coolly, tapping a few keys on her console. All business.

She'd changed so much. He'd always thought that the Protheans were her passion, and yet here she was, working for the Shadow Broker and doing a hell of a job. He originally had no intention of keeping tabs on her, or anyone, for that matter. He only knew what had happened to his old crew right after the memorial. Tali had finished her pilgrimage and returned to her people. Shepard's fellow human soldier had reported back to the Alliance.

Garrus, meanwhile, just wanted to work. More than that, he wanted to bury himself in it, turn into a machine, doling out justice. But working for the Citadel was a damn joke.

Establishing Liara as his Illium contact was pure chance. More than one influential Eclipse leader called the planet home. Part of staying one step ahead of the mercenaries was keeping informed of their activities on other worlds. He'd paid an Omega information broker entirely too much to set him up with a decent contact on Illium. During that first vid meeting over the extranet, Garrus had fumbled to duck out of his camera's view when Liara appeared on screen. After seeing nothing but an empty room, Liara wisely disconnected immediately, giving Garrus time to collect and disguise himself before calling her back. He still sometimes questioned why he felt the need to hide his identity to her of all people. But wherever her loyalties lied these days (if anywhere) one simple fact remained: she was working for the Shadow Broker. But _why_?

Archangel drummed his fingers on the desktop. He didn't dedicate too much energy into answering that question since first getting in touch with her months ago. Maybe it was time to change that. "Liara…"

Liara looked back at his image on her screen, her brows pulling together suspiciously, a frown darkening her face. They didn't communicate often, and while the vigilante always tried to be warm and friendly towards her, he had never been informal. If he was about to try and charm his way out of paying her fee, she would not be pleased.

"Dr. T'Soni," he quickly amended once catching her look, putting his hands up in surrender. No. Not the time for a happy reunion. It probably never would be. She'd been hurt, she'd changed, and she might no longer be able to be trusted. _Face it, Vakarian, the Liara who saved the universe with Shepard is as dead as the Garrus who saved the universe with Shepard._ "Thank you. The credits will be wired to you before the end of the day."

"Thank you, Archangel," Liara answered cautiously, and disappeared from his screen.

Garrus scowled at the black screen for a few moments, and then snapped the unit closed and pushed it away. He pulled off the helmet, flung it into the corner, and paced the room in frustration. Why the hell weren't his scouts checking in? He hated waiting, and he sure as hell didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts after seeing Liara again.

The door rattled, then opened, and Erash poked his head in, four eyes finding his commander. He spoke one word. "Garm."


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTE: This chapter has a lot of f-words, mentions of krogan genitals, a very unhappy batarian, and one sexually promiscuous drell. It's also the favorite chapter I have written so far. But lots of swear words. **

**As always, comments are loved.**

**

* * *

**

Vortash had made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion that he did not like the sick fuck drell. In fact, he made is very clear that he hated that sick fuck drell and wanted to be as far away from him as possible at all times.

And yet somehow here he was. Alone. With that sick fuck drell.

What's more, that sick fuck drell knew that Vortash hated him, just like everyone else knew, and he was enjoying coming up with the sickest fucking things he could just to make this scouting mission as miserable as possible. The sick fuck's eidetic memory was in full effect, and the drell was recalling every sick fuck he'd ever had in vivid detail, right down to the _smells_. Of a fucking _krogan_, for fuck's sake.

"I mean, say what you will about their virility, but their _stamina..._" Sensat murmured, his smile widening.

The two of them were in a rundown tenement building catty-corner to the Blood Pack base. Sensat, a lean blue-green drell, stood at the window, gazing through his headset's binocular display, clicking the heat sensors off and on idly, keeping a count of the krogan and vorcha heat signatures inside.

"I hate you. So much. Stop talking already," muttered the batarian on the floor beside him. Vortash busied himself by fiddling with his omni-tool, scrolling through the Pack's recently hacked files.

"And this guy was huge. Absolute brute. I swear to the Enkindlers, he was ticklish."

Vortash growled, multiple nostrils flaring in anger as he snapped his attention back up at the drell. "Shut up. You're fucking with me. You never fucked a krogan, there aren't gay krogan, and they sure as fuck aren't ticklish."

Sensat blinked his inner eyelids, looking over at the batarian. "No? Think about it. One female to every twenty males. You seriously think all those angry, intense krogan hormones aren't going cause all those men to go berserk on each other in animalistic passion?" He held up a pair of webbed fingers, "Two words. Krogan orgy."

"I am ignoring you so hard right now."

"Better than a krogan orgy? Asari orgy. Talk about classy. Krogan orgy is all wild and bestial and frantic, but asari." The drell let out a low whistle, turning his attention back to the base. "Bathing in a writhing blue sea."

Vortash fell suddenly silent, his thoughts drifting.

"I know you've got a thing for asari, Vor. I've caught you watching those vids."

Vortash let out a long-suffering sigh, dropping his arms to his sides and banging the back of his head against the wall a few times. "You're not going to stop, are you? You never fucking stop..."

"Have you ever had an asari?" the drell asked casually.

Vortash blinked all four eyes in quick succession, then sputtered. "Of course I have!"

"How many?" Sensat arched a scaly brow, glancing back at his partner.

The batarian scoffed, "Enough."

"Zeeerooo," Sensat drawled in a sing song voice.

"I am going to shoot myself in the head before this night is over, I swear."

"But you know what I still haven't crossed off my list?" Sensat stepped back from the window and sat beside Vortash in one fluid motion.

"If you say batarian male I am going to shoot _you _in the head."

The drell laughed softly and shook his head, "_Turian_ male." He paused, hand sliding into his jacket to pull out a package of batarian cigarettes, offering one to Vortash. "You've seen the boss without that helmet on, haven't you?"

Vortash hesitated before accepting the offered smoke. The drell had good taste in cigarettes at least. This brand was made using organic tukush leaves, grown exclusively on his people's homeworld. Batarians experienced a calming effect from the cigarettes as well as a pleasant tingle throughout their faces and fingers, while the drell enjoyed an additional benefit of warm, dry lungs."I do not like where this is going."

Sensat shrugged, lighting his cigarette with the end of his omni-tool, "Is he handsome? His voice is sexy as hell, and those hips." He sighed almost dreamily, exhaling smoke. "I've tried dropping hints. He is not picking up on any of them."

"I am not having this conversation."

The drell ran his tongue along his teeth thoughtfully, continuing in his calm conversational tone, "Turians are a challenge. Had a turian woman once and even then only after I told her I was an assassin."

Vortash looked over at Sensat, his gaze suddenly sharp, all four eyes narrowed. "Bullshit," he spat.

Sensat grinned, "I shit you not, my friend. The things she did with those mandibles you would not believe." He raised his hands to either side of his jaw, twitching his fingers suggestively.

"You're no fucking assassin."

The drell's grin was gone in an instant, inner eyelids blinking once. He scowled, rolling back to his feet, flicking his binocular HUD back on.

It was the batarian's turn to grin. He even let out a laugh, "Fuck. That shut you up." He shook his head, chuckling. "I've seen a drell assassin at work. You are no drell assassin." Sensat was lacking that otherworldy grace, like moving underwater yet at speeds even Vortash's four eyes could barely fully capture. Sure, Sensat was quick, quiet, and precise, but he had more brute force in his attacks than any drell Vortash had seen at work. He was lacking that certain light touch. No hanar had taught Sensat how to kill, that much was obvious. "Fucking fake."

"I'm not a fake," Sensat hissed back, his own eyes narrowed. "I never told you I was an assassin; I never told Archangel I was one, either. So I told a girl, one night, big deal. I don't walk around every day pretending to be something I'm not."

Vortash's smaller eyes blinked slowly and thoughtfully, looking over the young drell with a sudden new perspective as he rolled his cigarette in his fingers. "You're a wannabe."

Sensat's head bowed. _The girl child suits this one's needs, it says, luminescent and brilliant and so tall over my head. My father says it is an honor and asks about me and I hug his knees, too scared and in awe to speak or move. The hanar is silent a few moments, speaking in lights and colors that I cannot and will never see. It finally speaks aloud and says that I am flawed. _Sensat blinked, shaking his head to rid himself of the sudden memory. "They didn't want me."

"'Cause you're a fucking pervert, you sick fuck."

The drell paused, and then smiled, looking back at Vortash. "I wasn't a pervert when I was five, Vortash. That took many years of hard work, curiosity, and dedication." He lifted the cigarette to his lips again, "What were we talking about? Ah yes, you mentioned batarians. I like batarians. Like being draped in velvet."

Vortash sighed, pitching the cigarette away and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm going to go take a piss. I don't need to take a piss, but I am sure as fuck going to try if it gets me away from you for five minutes."

"Wait."

Vortash stopped, looking over quickly. It was the drell's tone that forced him to pause. He was no longer the casual and playful Sensat. His voice has dropped an octave into a rumbling pitch. "What?" he turned quickly to the window where Sensat stood perfectly still and alert.

"Radio Archangel. Garm is on the move."


	4. Chapter 4

**Short one, I know. But I'll make it up to you with a big bad battle next time.**

* * *

It was a rough day. How many vorcha had that asshole killed? Sure, they multiplied like pyjack, he could build up another small army within a month. But training them was the pain in the ass. Garm needed an army _now._

He was an impressive krogan specimen. Years of merciless slaughter had earned him striking scars, an intimidating high spiked hump, countless breeding requests, leadership of Omega's Blood Pack, and the title of Battlemaster. And on Omega? He was king, as far as he was concerned. What used to be a mounting vorcha army was supposed to go after Aria, not die smoldering in a decimated warehouse, victims of a surprise attack and copious amounts of explosives and incendiary ammo.

Now he needed an army to go after Archangel.

He was pacing out of the warehouse, flanked by a pair of vorcha. He'd put in an order to have more of the creatures shipped to Omega before the end of the month. His various krogan mercenaries had been called in from field operations as well. He was too vulnerable now. That damn Archangel.

He'd get his hands on him. Garm went to bed at night thinking about him. How he'd kill him. How he'd break each finger off, one at a time. He'd rip off Archangel's scrawny arms, then his legs. Finally, he would slowly and methodically remove the turian's head from his body with a serrated knife. The necks were the fleshy vulnerable part on the species, after all. He'd have to get creative with what to do with that head. Keep the outer carapace as a trophy, have it mounted. Maybe turn his skull into a urinal.

The krogan chuckled to himself as he lumbered through a tunnel, heading deeper into Blood Pack territory. This area had all been mines once. That was what brought people to Omega in the first place. The miners would hollow out the eezo, and then build settlements into the newly cleared space. In a few short years, the asteroid was nothing but a hollow husk, and when the work was gone most of the workers left, leaving the asteroid empty and outside Citadel space. The perfect place for every major mercenary band to get a foothold.

Krogan used to run this place. Now? A squishy blue bitch did. Problems on top of problems. Nothing that he couldn't handle, of course, but it sure as hell was giving him a headache. But one thing at a time. Archangel had to come first.

Garm jogged out of the underground tunnel and up a short ramp, before coming to an apartment complex. He had a few floors here all to himself. And his quarters gave him a full view of the Blood Pack base. Of course, he had been sleeping during the last attack. Now? He couldn't sleep. Too much work. He stepped into the elevator, hitting the controls, heading to the floor below his sleeping quarters.

The vorcha behind him started to hiss, grumbling and mumbling to each other. Garm looked over his shoulder at them, scaly brow furrowed. They probably had to be taken outside. He'd be damned if he let another one shit on his carpet. Vorcha shit stains were harder to get out than vorcha blood stains, and one inevitably always followed the other. "Go outside!" he barked at them, slapping the elevator controls with a hand. The doors slid shut, the elevator descended, and the krogan battlemaster was left alone in his silent empty rooms.

Garm rounded a corner, heading toward his walk in freezer. Hungry as hell. Time to throw a varren carcass in the radioactive cooker and-

_There was someone here._

Garm froze, and the figure at the other end of the room froze as well. It stood near the window, sniper rifle in hand, trying to shrink back out of his line of sight. But the neon light from a rotating advertisement outside had swept over him and he was caught.

A turian in full battle armor, his face hidden behind a thick protective helmet.

A split second later, the krogan bellowed, "ARCHANGEL!" and charged towards the turian at full speed.


	5. Chapter 5

**First off, I want to thank those who have subscribed and commented. You win a free donut, and were it not for the limited power of the internet, it would be sitting on your keyboards right now, lodging colorful sprinkles between the keys. Here's the big battle you were promised. Remember! Every time you comment, a butterfly tickles the nose of a newborn vorcha child. Enjoy.**

* * *

Archangel was equal parts lucky and unlucky at the moment. His misfortunes might have cancelled out his luck completely, but even a tiniest little sliver of a smile from the fates could be turned to his full advantage. Honestly, he'd take what he could get.

His scouts had radioed that Garm was getting ready to leave his base, and he jumped into action. Vortash was to remain in position. Sensat was told to follow at a safe distance, keeping the rest of the team informed of his location. Weaver was to take the salarian Mieran and his explosives to what was left of the base and turn it into rubble. His sole krogan squad member, Krul, was to get himself to Garm's favorite club double time if that was where the Pack leader was headed. Erash was to wait at his favorite restaurant. Butler was to head to one of Garm's homes while Archangel was to head to the other. There was to be absolutely no engagement. Archangel stressed this several times. Garm had a tricky habit of slipping away from them. Archangel was keeping all his bases covered, a man at every single possible spot he could lumber into. For various reasons, Krul was at the least likely destination. The plan was to keep an eye on him, wait for him to get into a vulnerable position, call for backup, and take that son of a bitch out once and for all.

Getting to his position was a quick run. The squad had been waiting for the word go less than five minutes away. It wasn't hard to get into Garm's place, either. Rare luck for Archangel, Garm never got the omni-gel upgrade on his locks. A child could have gotten in. The big krogan owned three currently deserted floors in the building. Now it was a matter of picking a good spot to stay undetected and out of sight. A previous visit gave him a good layout of the place. Best bet was the lowest floor. If he was lucky, which he rarely was, Garm would go all the way up to the top and take a piss as soon as getting home. Archangel was just stepping out of the elevator onto Garm's lowest floor when Sensat's voice crackled in his ear.

"Target has gone back inside the base. He must have forgotten something, I don't know. He just turned around and went back in."

Damn it. He was trying to be slippery again. Archangel paused, scanning the room. Kitchen, card table, a stairwell to the other floors, and big windows looking out onto the street. Archangel wasn't far from the Blood Pack base at all. In fact… _yeah_. He could see it from the windows. Archangel collapsed his automatic and returned it to its spot on his back, and slid his sniper rifle into his hands. "Which door?" he murmured over the radio, crouching by the window, lifting the scope to his eye.

"South," the drell answered.

Archangel nodded. "I've got the south side in my sights. Sensat, cover any other exits. Everyone else remain in position. Vortash, do you copy?"

There was no answer. Archangel blinked, body stiffening as he lifted his head. "Vortash." He was the one with the best view of the base from his vantage point. If Sensat lost the krogan, Vortash could pick up his trail. "Vortash." Silence.

"Shit," Erash cursed into the radio. "I'm going to go get him."

"Hold your position," Archangel growled at the batarian. An overprotective big brother rushing into an unknown situation was the last thing he needed.

"You need me?" This was Sidonis. He remained at the base with the new recruit and Ripper.

Archangel grimaced, weighing his options. The base Sidonis was holding down was minor. He didn't need to keep it protected. "Yeah, hurry." He dropped his gaze back to the scope. "You've got his 20?"

"I do. Five minutes out."

"Copy." No activity at the south door. Archangel glanced at the corner of his visor, checking the time and the positions of his team. If Garm had run back into the base for something forgotten he was taking his sweet time. "Sensat, where the hell did he go?"

"I don't know!" the drell responded, flustered. "I lost his heat signature."

There was a flurry of curse words over the radio from various teammates. _Not again. _Archangel closed his eyes, muttering to himself, and then refocused his attention on the base through the scope with new determination. "Everyone hold position. We don't know where he is now, but he could appear anywhere." They had every possible place the jackass could go covered. He was not slipping away this time, damn it!

For about sixty seconds, there was complete silence. Archangel watched the door through his sniper scope, breathing slow and steady. There was a whir, and he glanced quickly over his shoulder. The elevator. The elevator doors were opening. Archangel gritted his teeth and flattened himself against the wall.

With two thunderous steps, Garm was off the elevator and in the room. Of course he got off on this floor. This was the kind of luck Archangel had. Couldn't go up to his john and take a leak, noooo. If Archangel radioed for backup now, he'd be heard and turned into a blue turian-scented smudge on the expensive carpet.

He pressed himself against the wall, trying to stay in the shadows and watched as Garm shouted at his vorcha. "Go outside!" The vorcha whined and retreated, the elevator doors closed again, and the krogan was left alone and twenty feet from the turian. Did his luck just change? Just this once was it working in his favor? No guards, no mercs, no vorcha… just him and Garm. How quietly could he snag his assault rifle? His arm lowered slowly, breath held.

Lights flickered outside, and the irritating glow from an implant advertisement fell squarely on the quiet turian, exposing him to a shocked krogan. Time slowed to a crawl, and Archangel watched Garm charge towards him in slow motion. He dropped his M-97 sniper rifle, hand pulling the M-8 Avenger assault rifle from its place on his back and slid to one side. He watched the krogan slip past him, grazing his shoulder with his hard bony head, and slam heavily into the wall.

The world sped up again as Archangel danced backwards, lifting the gun and unloading it into the krogan. His biotic shield lit up brilliantly with each bullet's impact, and Garm spun towards him, hands snapping out to grab him by the chestplate. _Oh joy, close quarters combat with a krogan_. Garm's talons caught him by the armor and with a fearsome battle cry, the krogan flung Archangel across the room, slamming him painfully into the opposite wall. Archangel was dimly aware of a cracking sound. His armor or one of his guns. Or, worst case scenario, his kinetic shield generator. No time to assess damage. The krogan had pulled out his Claymore shotgun, firing angrily.

Huffing to get the air back into his lungs, Archangel raised his M-8 squeezed off three precise rounds, watching Garm's weapon explode in a burst of sparks and plastic shrapnel. The blasts from the shotgun that pinged off Archangel's armor and nicked his frill alerted him that, yes, _of course_, worst case scenario. His kinetic shield was down. The furious krogan threw down the shattered shotgun and was charging again, fists in the air.

Archangel unloaded his M-8 into the charging krogan, watching each shot make his barrier a little dimmer. In no time at all Garm was on him again, bringing both fists down on the prone turian. Time to make use of the speed advantage turians had over krogan. Archangel kicked off the wall, sliding between the krogan's legs, firing two more shots upwards before his thermal clip finally reached it's limit.

The startled cry of pain let him know that damn biotic barrier was finally down. Garm doubled over clutching at himself while Archangel got to his feet, sprinting to get some distance, quickly popping out the overloaded clip. "Can't be that bad, Garm, you've got three spares."

WHUMP. BAM. Archangel was suddenly slammed into the ceiling, then back to the ground. Damn krogan biotics. There was another crack, and this time he felt it, a shock of pain coursing through him. That wasn't his armor. He coughed and shook his head quickly. When his vision cleared, he spotted Garm sprinting for the elevator at full speed.

Archangel allowed himself a second to stare in disbelief. He was running away? _That stinking coward was running away_? Growling, Archangel swung his arm and flicked a grenade towards the elevator doors. It fastened securely to the steel a foot away from the krogan, beeped once, then detonated in a magnificent explosion. Garm was knocked backwards, sliding along the floor, singed and smoking. The elevator doors were peeled open like the skin of an orange, exposing a long empty shaft. No getting out that way. No reinforcements coming up that way, either.

With painful protest from his ribs, Archangel got to his feet, collapsing the assault rifle in favor of his pistol. He stepped closer to the krogan, who was still lying on the floor, armor half melted. Parts of his face were gone, the bony plating of his head split open like an overripe fruit. One eye was a charred black briquette. Archangel exhaled, one hand pointing his pistol at Garm while the other tapped his visor. "This is Archangel, I need-"

He was cut off by a loud roar from Garm, and was thrown back by another biotic burst, towards the elevator shaft. His free hand shot out to snag onto a sharp piece of twisted metal that used to be the door, catching himself before he could plummet down eight stories. He teetered over the precipice, managing to hold onto the ledge with his toes as he regained his balance.

Garm was getting back to his feet. Already he was regenerating. Impossible. He snapped his head to one side, cracking his neck as he advanced on Archangel. "A krogan battlemaster doesn't go down that easy, turian." Archangel watched in shock as blood dripped from his split head, his bad eye twitching and blinking away the burned flesh.

This kind of luck was closer to what he was used to.

Archangel grunted, pushing himself away from the shaft and began firing at Garm again. The first few pinged off the weak biotic barrier he'd managed to throw up again, but it didn't last. The next few shots sunk into the thick plating along his head. Garm roared again, taking the stance of a beast about to charge.

And here Archangel was standing in front of a steep drop. It might just be a good idea to move. He stopped firing and sprinted to the side, vaulting over the card table. Garm pounded after him, skidding to make a clumsy turn in front of the shaft. Archangel pivoted and fired again, a single concussive shot. The blow knocked Garm off balance, and he stumbled backwards, foot slipping from the edge. A split second later he was gone, disappearing down the dark opening.

Archangel exhaled, dropping his head back, calling out into the radio, "Let's try this again. Archangel could use some backup here…" Resting a hand on his still throbbing torso, he leaned over the shaft, firing down a few times. Each shot illuminated the shaft briefly, but only for a few yards. It was too deep and too dark. He couldn't see if he was hitting the krogan or the wall. Shit. He stepped back and ran for the stairwell. If a close range explosion only slowed Garm down for a second, a fall like that might only give Archangel a small window to finish him off.

Sidonis' breathless voice came over the radio. "Vortash is hit, he's bleeding bad!" Shit. Shit! Someone in the Blood Pack base must have spotted him. Which means they were probably going to saunter over there and see if they hit anyone of interest. There was suddenly a new top priority. Making sure Vortash was covered with enough firepower to get him out of there without any further injury.

Archangel brought up a map in his mind as he ran, quickly studying his men's positions. "Erash, I need you," he said first and foremost. Keep the batarian brute focused. He'd be no help fussing and panicking over his baby brother. "Mierin, whatever explosions you've planted will have to be enough, you, Weaver, and Sensat find Sidonis and get Vortash out of there. Ripper and Melanis, prep for the injured. Krul and Butler, I need your asses here, too. I've got him on the ropes."

A chorus of "Copy" sang in his ears as Archangel continued to round the stairways, heading deeper into the building. Garm must have taken some secret underground tunnel to get here. That's how they lost him. He was smart enough to stay out of the open. He realized he was vulnerable and, being the coward that he clearly was, took the safe path home.

Breathing hard, Archangel was spinning around the third floor railing when he stopped. Metallic pounding. And angry yelling. The elevator shaft was right on the other side the wall to his immediate right. Garm must not have fallen all the way down. The elevator car must have stopped here and the big krogan crashed into it. The turian pivoted on a heel, and sprinted towards the door that would take him out of the stairwell to the third floor.

Wincing in pain, he rested a hand on his chest as he rounded the corner towards the elevator doors and nearly slammed full force into a vorcha, sending it to the ground. Fifteen vorcha filled the third floor lobby and were frantically pulling apart the elevator doors to free their leader, hissing and muttering angrily to one another. All motion and chatter stopped the moment the turian appeared around the corner and sent one of them sprawling.

Archangel stumbled backwards, let out a slow "Shiiiit…" and pulled out his M-8. There wasn't a moment of hesitation before he started firing, backing away quickly. Krogan regeneration had nothing on these freaks.

Two vorcha dropped dead under his gunfire by the time the rest of them could pull out their weapons. Archangel let out something between a growl and a while, and then turned tail and ran back the way he came as soon as the return fire began. He could hear and feel it bouncing off his armor. It wouldn't hold up long under this kind of a barrage. "Scratch that, making a retreat!"

Like the old saying goes, where there's one vorcha that you can see, there's three more that you can't. Garm's reinforcements had shown up after all. Archangel felt a sudden shooting pain up his thigh and heard a maniacal cackle from a vorcha on his heels. He ducked into the stairwell, vaulted the railing and dropped in a crouch on the first floor. It would have looked much more impressive if he hadn't doubled over with a shout of agony, clutching his leg. "Sssson of a dancing dick clown…" he hissed through clenched teeth, forcing himself back up into a standing position and turned back towards the stairs. The vorcha were thundering down them after him, and the turian was quick to fling another of Mierin's special grenades at the bottom stair.

He was thrown backwards and out the door into the street with the force of the blast, hearing the vorcha screech as his nostrils were filled with the smell of their stinking burning flesh. He lay dazed on his back on the pavement for a moment, panting and staring up at the hollowed-out dome ceiling that served as Omega's sky. "Oohh, that could have gone a lot better…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Onto Chapter Six. Hm. Was someone missing from the story? How many team members did Archangel have? Remember! Every comment you make is matched* with a comment to fund_ Kure for Kepral's_ towards Kepral's Syndrome research. (*up to 50,000 comments.) Enjoy!**

* * *

"How long have I been saying we need a medic on this team?"

Garrus sighed, picking up a towel to wipe the medi-gel from his palm. "You were right."

Sidonis lifted a brow and smirked, "I'm sorry, I was what? Can I hear that again? Can I get it on a plaque?"

They went through far too much medi-gel, and it seemed like lately they were buying more of that than thermal clips. But Vortash… someone in the Blood Pack base must have somehow seen him from his surveillance spot across the street. Sidonis had found the batarian bleeding out from a single sniper wound to the neck.

Archangel's crew had regrouped in the more secure of their bases, and the mood was understandably somber. Vortash was in bad shape, Garm got away, and the explosives placed outside the Blood Pack base didn't do much in terms of structural damage at all. This battle had been a wasted effort. Sensat had excused himself shortly after bringing the injured batarian back, and the remaining nine of them stood together in a small dark room, figuring out the next step.

The injured batarian was the first priority to everyone but Krul. The big krogan was pacing the room in a rage. "You let him get away!"

"Krul…" Garrus' voice was almost pleading.

"The only reason I joined up with you was to bring Garm down and you let him get away!" Krul advanced on Garrus, stabbing a finger against his injured chest. "I should have let you bleed out on that sidewalk, sure as hell wouldn't have hauled your bony ass back here if I knew that you let him get away!"

Garrus swatted the hand away, wincing, "We are going to get him, Krul!"

Erash stood in a corner, arms crossed, scowling. "We need get Vortash to a clinic," he growled, returning the conversation to the more pressing concern.

Sidonis shook his head, "No, the only clinic on Omega is in Blue Suns territory, they _know _him. Soon as a member sees him or you, he's dead."

"The medi-gel stopped the bleeding," Garrus murmured, inspecting his own injury. A vorcha bullet had caught him in the thigh. It went straight through, no major damage. His plastron was cracked thanks to Garm's biotics, making it painful to breathe deeply and get poked by a pissed off krogan, but again, it wouldn't slow him down and would stitch itself back together in a week or two.

The large batarian growled, advancing on the turian, "You know fuck all about batarians. It stopped the bleeding by closing off that artery. He needs to go to a clinic and get it stitched back together." There was enough blood swimming around in his brain and supplied by a secondary artery to keep him alive. But there were two other major arteries drawing blood back out of Vortash's brain. Twice as much coming out as going in. Add to this the fact he'd lost a lot of blood already and it summed up to a dire situation. Without medical aid, Vortash would be dead by morning.

"So we need to bring somebody here," Garrus said, pushing himself off the desk and to his feet, shifting his weight to his injured leg cautiously. "Who knows somebody we can trust and who can get here fast?"

His men exchanged looks in silence.

Garrus sighed, "Come on, somebody."

Erash growled again, grabbing a grenade launcher from the weapon rack, "We are going to that fucking clinic and we'll turn anyone who tries to stop us into stinking piles of smoking meat!"

"W-wait wait wait." Weaver spoke up suddenly, holding up his hand, stepping in front of Erash. "I know a guy. He's-… well, he's not a doctor, he's an asshole, b-but he could do this. And he's on Omega."

Garrus looked off, bony brows pulling together as he stared at the door leading to the room where Vortash laid. Damn it, he shouldn't have left Vortash alone. He shouldn't have left anyone alone, everyone should have had a partner. That should have come before having all his bases covered. He'd spread himself too thin. Stupid mistake. _His _mistake. He clicked his tongue and nodded, turning back to Weaver, "Go pick him up."


	7. Chapter 7

**Remember! Every time you leave a comment, the refresh button is given a brief but much needed break from the author obsessively clicking it whilst checking for new comments. Think of the refresh button, and _enjoy_.  
**

* * *

His first night working for Archangel and Melanis already felt completely useless. When everyone ran off after everything went to shit, Ripper, that one armed human, had taken him to this base deeper in the quieter core of Omega. He didn't need to be coddled, damn it. He should have gone out there, too, not put fresh goddamn sheets on a cot for the injured batarian. He didn't come out here to be a damn maid.

He'd gotten a new gun, at least, a shiny new M-97 sniper rifle. The armor, he was told, would have to wait. But the rifle was screaming to be tried out. He lined up a neat row of empty liquor bottles and instant ramen cups along the far edge of a bridge on one side of the base, then retreated to a quiet vantage point above the bridge's opposite end.

Sidonis, Weaver, and Erash had left to pick up Weaver's medic. Archangel, or rather Garrus as the kid just learned, went to make a few calls of his own in case that didn't pan out.

Melanis jogged up the ramp to the sniping point, pulling a leather loveseat to the edge of the open balcony. He settled the gun against his shoulder and lifted the sight to his eye.

"People walk in that way."

Melanis flinched, letting out a curse before looking to the sound of the voice. A drell lounged in the far dark side of the room, reclined on another of the comfortable leather seats, staring at the ceiling.

"I'd hate to see you accidentally pop a teammate coming back up from a scouting position," he said, head turning to look at him. "Melanis, isn't it?"

Melanis slid into the loveseat, frowning. "Yeah… And no one is going to walk in, they took the Hornet. Everyone else is here. Who are you again?"

"Sensat," replied the man in a soft, low, vibratto tone. He sat up, folding his hands between his knees, gaze fixing on Melanis. "They've gone for medical aid, haven't they?"

The turian nodded slowly. "That batarian got shot in the neck. Sounds bad."

Sensat's lips tightened. "_Archangel wants me to go follow, I say. Vortash is impatient, he tells me to go already, he says he can keep an eye out here. I give him the pack of cigarettes and tell him not to get too bored. He smirks and pulls one out of the pack and lights it. He lights it, and I am barely aware of the glowing ember in the darkness as I retreat."_

"…What?" Melanis stared at him, dumbfounded. Where did he go just now?

The drell blinked both sets of eyelids, shook himself from the memory, and looked back at the young turian. "The cigarette." He tapped his mouth with a finger. "They saw the light of his cigarette from the base and fired at him."

Melanis was silent a few moments, his sharp little eyes studying the drell. "Is that what happened?"

"It's the only logical conclusion," Sensat murmured, lying on his back again.

The turian grimaced, squirming in the awkward silence. He turned and looked out the scope again. Was the drell feeling guilty? Melanis could speak up tell him that it wasn't his fault. That Vortash shouldn't have been smoking, that it was a stupid and careless thing to do. But he was the rookie here. Best to just keep his mouth shut. "That krogan was pissed," he said finally in a conversational tone in an attempt to change the topic.

"Grundan Krul?"

"Yeah."

"Because Garm lives?"

"I guess so. He was telling Archangel that killing Garm was the only reason he joined the team."

"Because Garm killed a krogan female."

Melanis dropped the scope from his eye and looked back at Sensat in alarm. "You're shitting me." Krogan females were put on friggin' pedestals. An endangered species, relied upon, guarded, and damn near worshipped as the only ones who could save the dwindling krogan population.

"I am not."

"Why did he kill a krogan woman?"

Sensat sighed, his eyes drifting closed. He was exhausted, body and soul. He was sorely tempted to slip out to Afterlife to find someone warm to connect and curl up with. "Because Garm enjoys hurting those weaker than he is. She insulted him. He hurt her. She continued to insult him. He killed her. And then he ran. Krul followed."

"Holy shit."

"Indeed."

A few seconds of silence ticked by, before Melanis asked, "Why are you here?" The drell lifted his head and looked at the turian. "I'm pretty sure I've heard everyone else's story." All the humans, both the batarians, the krogan, and the salarian. Archangel had made a point of making it known that they all had a damn good reason to be on his side. That left the drell and the two turians' histories a mystery.

The drell was silent, his lips twitching as he forced the memory away. "Eclipse killed my friend Dalia."

"You don't want to elaborate on that any?"

"I do not."

"Everybody's lost someone to the mercs," Melanis murmured thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"Payback is long overdue, huh?"

"Yes."

Melanis frowned, and then looked back over the bridge. "Are you always this chatty?"

"Are you always this intrusive?"

The kid flexed his mandibles in irritation. There would be no point in grilling him to learn more about his fellow turians. He glanced back at Sensat, "Can I shoot now? I'll radio Archangel and let him know the shots are coming from me."

Sensat smiled faintly, eyes still closed, "Yes, by all means. Protect us from the dangerous recyclables."


	8. Chapter 8

**Remember! Every time you comment, Grunt kills a kitten. But an evil kitten, so it's a good thing. Enjoy.**

* * *

Sidonis considered Hank Weaver a likeable guy. For a human. He was Alliance thirty years ago. He'd enlisted during the First Contact War, but the day he finished basic was the day the war ended. His life continued to be a series of missed opportunities and kicks in the teeth. Passed over for officer positions because he was too damn good at being a grunt and too damn nice to everybody. He could never make the sacrifices required of a leader. Passed over for C-Sec after leaving the service because he was a human. So he joined up with Elanus Risk Control Services and started killing pirates and slavers. It wasn't long before he found the corporation as dirty as those they were trying to stop, so he struck out on his own. He'd eventually caught wind of this Archangel character on Omega and was among the first to join him. Now he had at most one year of fighting in him before his degenerative brain disease would turn him into a vegetable. The worst it did to him until then was a stammer and the occasional twitch.

Weaver was the rare example of a truly good and decent man, and the universe decided to shit on him for it. And Weaver was the kind of guy who would just shrug, smile, and soldier on.

"If he's not a doctor, how can he do anything?" Erash sulked from the back seat of the Hornet transport vehicle as he, Weaver, and Sidonis sped through Omega's tunnels. Weaver had suggested starting the search for his contact at Capsule, a seedier bar on the outskirts of the market district. Well, seedy by Omega standards, anyhow.

"He's done medical work," Weaver said slowly, leaning to one side to peer out the window as the vehicle landed.

"On batarians?"

"Oh, sure. On everything." The human popped the door open and hopped out.

There was something he wasn't telling them. Sidonis watched the human warily, before looking about. The dark street was wet from a leaking sewage pipe overhead and was illuminated by flickering ads for alcohol and cheap food. A pair of vorcha brawled on the corner, while a human female wearing hardly anything trailed behind the trio unsteadily, offering a three-for-the-price-of-two special. Weaver jogged up the steps and ducked into the bar.

Inside wasn't much of an improvement over outside. It was much darker in here, and it smelled like someone had recently urinated near the jukebox that was creaking out a mournful batarian love song. Two salarians, clearly high on Hallex, were huddled in the corner, one swearing to the other that he "totally met a yahg once." A turian had a human woman pinned in the corner, his hand around her wrist, demanding in a low, harsh whisper that she give him his damn money. Sidonis' hands clenched as he watched. There was no time to intervene now, but he made a point of memorizing the turian's face.

"Does he have a name?" Erash had been grilling Weaver the entire ride over. Is he human? Can we trust him? Will he be armed? Can he shoot? Is he going to help? Should we just grab him and run? What does he look like? Not that a description would help much. Aside from their coloring, all humans looked pretty much alike.

"Yeah. Th-there he is. Monty!" Weaver jogged towards the bar where a human male in his forties sat hunched, hand on a bottle, dark hair in his face.

'Monty' stirred, then turned to the voice, bloodshot eyes focusing on Weaver. "Th' fuck are you doing here, boy scout? I thought you were dead!"

"He's drunk!" Erash cried, his voice shaking with rage. They needed him to perform delicate surgery immediately and by the looks of it, the human could barely stand.

Weaver flashed a grin, sliding a hand under the drunk's arm to pull him to his feet. "Not yet. And I was looking for you. Sidonis, this is Ernesto Monteague. Um, little help here."

Sidonis scowled and stepped to Monteague's other side, grabbing him as he swayed unsteadily. "We need to sober him up fast. Coffee works on you humans, right?"

"What about punching really hard?" Erash growled.

"Pfffftt," Monteague sputtered, turning to look at the turian, "I'm not drunk, skull face. What th' fuck do you to want? What, you got a b'tarian, too? Shit, Weaver, trying to collect the whole set?"

"Ugh." Sidonis turned his face away from the man. What was the human expression? Drunk as a stunk? Something like that. This guy reeked. "Thank you for that. Breathing right in my face, that just capped off my night."

"Coffee works," Weaver muttered, guiding Monteague towards the exit, "Cold shower, too. Monty, we're in a tight sp-spot here, we really need you. C'mon, we can explain on the way. There's a hundred credits in it for you." Weaver locked eyes with the agitated batarian, his voice suddenly serious, "We'll get him working, Erash, I give you my word. We are not going to let anything happen to Vor."

The turian and human tossed Monteague bodily into the back of the Hornet, where he promptly emptied his late dinner of picked asari squid and booze on the floor mats. "Uugh… oh, now I feel better."

Erash's entire body was trembling with rage now, shoving the drunken man to the opposite side of the vehicle to make room for himself. "You're supposed to be a doctor?"

Monteague coughed, then laughed, rolling himself into a seated position, "Fuuuck no, four eyes. I'm a motherfucking embalmer."


	9. Chapter 9

**Remember! Every time you comment, Anders gets a kitten. A non-evil one. And yes, I know that isn't a ME reference. But he really likes kittens. Enjoy!**

* * *

"P-pathologist," Weaver corrected.

"Jeeesus Christ, Weaver!" Butler shook his head, placing his hand on his hip while his other hand pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? This was the best you could come up with?"

"Alliance p-pathologist!"

"Jeeesus Chriiist…"

"I'm sorry, I fail to see how an Alliance pathologist can help our current situation any." Sidonis crossed his arms, looking over at Monteague. They'd hauled him into the base half an hour ago

Garrus had slipped quietly into the room a few moments after they'd arrived, cursed, spun on a heel, and quickly slinked back into the hall, lifting his hand to conceal his face. For once he wasn't being paranoid. He _knew_ Monteague. Back in his early Citadel days, the lousy drunk had to be thrown in the tank on more than one occasion. Monteague was no medical doctor, he worked in the morgue, up until he got fired and left the Citadel for good, much to the delight of everyone on C-Sec. This was the medical professional Weaver knew? The human was at this moment probably too drunk recognize him if he remembered him at all, which was also just _wonderful_. Garrus shook his head as he leaned against the wall outside the room, listening. Erash was keeping Monteague's coffee cup full and repeatedly offered to slap him.

"_Former _Alliance pathologist," Monteague muttered, leaning away from Erash, hand up to shield his face. "Embalmer now. Fuuck… I'm gonna be sick again…"

Erash cocked his head to the right with a growl, subtly giving the human the batarian version of the middle finger. He snagged Monteague by the back of his shirt and shoved him towards the john.

"He was-… well. They were keeping sp-specimens. So we'd know how to kill… you." Weaver grimaced, motioning awkwardly. "Back after the war. When everything was still… tense. Every time we had an incident with an alien ship, we-… _they _kept the bodies for study. Monteague was… in that dep-partment."

"Jesus Christ, Weaver."

Sidonis' eyes narrowed on the human, "So… the fact that he is familiar with batarian physiology is because he performed autopsies on dead batarian prisoners?"

Weaver looked both so sorrowful and apologetic that Sidonis almost felt bad for asking in such a disgusted tone. "I-… yeah."

Mierin, who had his headphones off for once, was sitting perched on the edge of a table, listening closely to the conversation. "Don't act so high and mighty, Sid. Turians did it, too. So did the salarians. Hell, I've heard rumors of salarian task forces kidnapping and studying humans centuries before first contact." He lifted his hands, long fingers wiggling as he adopted his spooky voice, "Humans called us _Grays_."

Butler rubbed his face with both hands, "Shut up, Mierin."

There was splashing from the bathroom, then screeching and the sounds of a struggle. "Aaugh! Okay! OKAY, I'M SOBER! SHIT! Gimme the fucking scalpel already, fuck!" A moment later, a disgruntled Monteague emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, his black hair plastered to his forehead.

Trailing behind him was a smug Erash. The batarian glanced at Sidonis and shrugged, "He wasn't puking. So I dunked him."

The mostly sober Monteague wiped his face with both hands. "Shit. Fine. Christ. So. You're not mercs, right?" He eyed the tattoo on Erash's chin warily. "I don't work for mercs."

Weaver rolled his eyes, "No, Monteague, we are not mercs."

"Do you even have medical supplies here?"

Weaver hopped to his feet, nodding. "Yeah. We've got 'em in his room." Six months ago, a pirate vessel intercepted a ship full of medical supplies that the clinic on Omega had ordered. The pirates delivered the supplies to their original destination, but asked for three times what the clinic had already paid for them. Archangel caught wind of the situation and showed up with his then team of seven. Sixteen dead pirates later, the clinic got its supplies. The doctor, a human named Whelton, had shown her appreciation by rewarding Archangel with a small but generous cache of medical supplies, including medi-gel, painkillers, quarian grade antibiotics, and basic surgical equipment.

If Whelton hadn't been killed two weeks later, she would have been brought here instead of Monteague. They had no idea who was operating the clinic now, and no way of knowing if that doctor could be trusted. Of course, one of Garrus' backup plans had been to kidnap him anyways.

Monteague nodded, adopting a more serious expression, wiping his hands on his shirt. "I'm going to need to wash up." He closed his eyes, bringing up in his mind the structure of the batarian neck. Four carotid arteries: left anterior, left posterior, right anterior, right posterior. Two of each had probably evolved in part due to the weakness that was the batarian spine. The creatures were more cartilage than bone, like sharks. Everything is more flexible, but it puts more stress on the circulatory system. Bending too far can stretch blood vessels to their breaking point, and batarians were very prone to bruising. So evolution decided to double up on veins and arteries to make up for it. But as far as what needed to be done, a stent or just stitching it back together, he'd have to see the damage himself to make that decision.

Cybernetics were out of the question. Too far outside his own expertise. As was operating on a living subject, to be honest.

"Is he conscious?" Monteague opened his eyes. "We don't have the luxury of an anesthesiologist." Forget what the vids say, sedating a patient is no easy task. Age, weight, allergies, and species all come into figuring out what to give and how much. There's little room for error.

"He's in and out," Butler said, watching Monteague cautiously. "You sure you're up for this?"

The pathologist shrugged, "Gonna have to be. Weaver and you. Grab the strongest booze you got, wash up, and meet me in there."


	10. Chapter 10

**Yes, it has been some time between updates. And yes, this is a short one. I was distracted by another fanfic that was demanding be written. Also, I didn't realize I posted the same chapter twice. Sorry for that. But here's ten. Remember! Every time you comment I think happy thoughts of you and you alone. Enjoy.**

* * *

Word on the street was that Garm was licking his wounds after wrestling with Archangel. Jaroth would have chuckled to himself, had not the possibility of his own demise at the hands of the turian weighed so heavily on his mind. The salarian watched as his brother Velig tinkered with a recently salvaged YMIR Mech at the Eclipse base, occasionally scolding him and telling him the correct way to install new cooling fans.

Velig was more than happy to take delight in their rival's misfortune, however. He stood upright, wiping the sweat from his horned brow, leaving a streak of grease behind. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, brother," he said cheerfully.

"They're both my enemy," Jaroth muttered sourly. "I want them both dead." He leaned over to inspect the mech. The YMIR Mech was massive, a walking tank. Its white metallic shell was marked by a few bullet holes, and the circuits had been completely fried by a well placed overload attack from Jaroth's omni-tool. But it was a good find. Damage wasn't that bad, they only had to kill about twenty people on the Cerberus vessel last week to get it. It would be fully operational by the end of the month.

"So you let one kill the other, leaving the first one damaged and easy to take out," the other salarian said, as if it were easy as putting on socks. "Both dead, piece of cake."

Jaroth pounded a fist on the worktable, and it let out a satisfying metallic bang. "It's not as simple as that." He began to pace the room, hands folded behind his back. The two of them had been running Eclipse on Omega since shortly before Archangel arrived on the scene, and every day since his appearance had been a living hell. "We've lost millions in the past year. Millions! He launched an entire shipment of red sand out into the airlock. He made sure I was watching and spaced an entire six month supply of red sand!" His usual crimson coloring was turning a strange shade of purplish brown as green blood rushed to his face in fury.

Velig put his hands up in a calming gesture. "I know, I know. I want him dead, too. It's the principle of the thing, I get it."

"And then there's Aria." Jaroth collapsed into a chair. "I don't even want to think about what she's costing me."

Velig nodded solemnly, turning the motherboard in his hand. "Her tariffs are very unreasonable."

Jaroth sighed wearily, studying the mech. He'd drop it in the middle of Archangel's base if he had any idea where it was. Or Afterlife, if he didn't think the asari would survive the encounter unscathed and come after him in all her blue biotic fury. He rubbed his eyes, head shaking a little. He didn't need this stress. It was doing ghastly things to his digestive system.

"So we prioritize!" Velig said in a chipper tone, picking up a datapad from the workbench. "Who needs to die first?"

"Archangel."

Velig nodded curtly, making a note on his datapad. "And then?"

"Aria."

Velig's lips twisted up thoughtfully, "I don't think that's a good idea. After killing Aria, the consequential power vacuum will result in a bloodbath as the other mercenary groups grapple with us to try and get control of Omega."

The hand covering Jaroth's eyes lowered as he stared at his brother. "What do you suggest?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Special thanks to Iknowtoomuch for his/her review. I really didn't want to tell anything at all about Shep in this story, which is why he/she was barely mentioned (so far), to keep him/her ambiguous. Folks have been talking about other Archangel fanfics, and I started to read one, then stopped. Not because it was bad, but because it was awesome, and I didn't want to end up taking ideas. So if you want to suggest fics I should read after this is all done, I would love that. Remember! Every time you comment, an Archangel gets his wings. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"So when are you bringing that sister of yours around?"

Garrus let out a bark of humorless laughter, shaking his head. "Never. And you really need to stop asking."

Sidonis grinned faintly, his mandibles flexing. "So we go meet her somewhere off-world. Off-asteroid, rather."

"I'm not introducing you to my sister, Sidonis."

Sidonis rocked back on his heels, gripping the balcony railing as he let out a sigh, "There are hardly any turian women here." The pair of them had stepped outside onto one of the base's balconies. The view wasn't much; it only overlooked a garage, support beams, and a large dreary, featureless wall.

"Turian women are too smart to come here," Garrus murmured wryly. "At least that's what I tell myself when I cry myself to sleep each and every lonely night."

"And the ones that are here are ugly as hell."

"While I don't disagree with you, I feel the need to point out that this is not helping your case."

"She's gorgeous."

"I am aware."

"I'm not asking to marry her, just meet her."

Garrus turned his head, giving his friend a long look. When he spoke, he managed to disguise his annoyance with the calmest and kindest tone he could muster. "I know you're not. I know what you're after, and she can't supply it, Sidonis. You aren't ready for anything serious yet, and she isn't going to accept anything less."

The other turian's expression darkened instantly. He frowned and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a clawed hand. "You know I was only teasing," he muttered. Everyone was on pins and needles. So much for lightening the mood.

Garrus scoffed, openly irritated now. "And maybe I'm sick of you teasing me about it. She doesn't-… It's something of a sensitive subject."

Sidonis snapped his gaze back to Garrus, eyes narrowed, voice a growl. "So is my _wife_. So back off."

Garrus rolled his eyes and stepped away from the balcony, shaking his head. "Fine. I've got enough shit on my plate without adding yours." Sidonis could turn on a dime from hardened turian military veteran to moody and pendulant teenager. Granted, finding the batarian tech in a huge pool of blood probably only served to agitate his often flimsy nerves. The guy was damaged, no question, and at the moment Garrus did not have the patience for it. Not with Vortash still being worked on by the hack Weaver hauled in. He paced back inside the base, hands clenched.

He found the rest of his team had gathered once again in the big room outside the barracks. His mouth opened to ask for an update when Monteague appeared in the doorway, tossing a pair of rubber gloves into the nearby bin. "You want the good news?" He asked it casually but with a hint of darkness, eyes finding Garrus.

There didn't seem to be any recognition in his gaze. Honestly, at this point, Garrus didn't care. "Crap. What is it?"

Monteague itched his neck idly, "You know that tattoo he had on his neck. Looked like the Blue Suns sign? Well, thanks to the bullet hole and the scar that's going to be left behind it's pretty much gone. Good news as he's probably not in the Blue Suns anymore. Seeing as you're Archangel," he motioned to Garrus with a hand, then dug into his pockets for his cigarettes.

God damn it. Even half drunk, the man was astute. "What's the bad news?"

"Bad news?" Monteague rocked back on his heels, looking at the ceiling a few moments in thought. "Bad news… Bad news is you still have two batarians on your team instead of one." The doctor shrugged, grinning crookedly. "I didn't even need to suture it that securely. Lucky for you, you had a vascular external mesh wrap in that kit of yours. Lucky for me, the package was labeled."

Erash looked like he was ready to drop to the floor with relief, but he was quick to regain his composure and bounded into the back room without a word of thanks or a backwards glance.

"So…" Garrus began slowly. "He's going to be all right?"

"Hell if I know. Prognoses were never something I covered in school. Long as they were still dead, our operations were considered a success. But your batarian, probably, yeah. He might need a few days to replace all that blood he lost, but the batarian circulatory system is a hell of a thing." He lit his cigarette on his omni-tool, and then inhaled deeply, pointing at Garrus with the burning tip. "But you. I know you. You're Garrus Vakarian."

Garrus closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. _Greeeat. Just great. _

"Wait. You're _that_ Garrus?" he heard Melanis say incredulously.

When his eyes opened he saw Monteague watching him with a shit-eating grin, hands in the air. Weaver looked ready to strangle him as he held his pistol up at the doctor's head. "Aaand now you don't get to leave," Garrus said in a resigned tone, motioning to Butler, "Take his weapon."

Melanis was still beside himself in amazement. "You're the hero of the Citadel! You killed Saren Arterius! What the hell are you doing in this piss hole? I thought you were a Spectre now!"

"I'm not a Spectre!" Garrus growled at Melanis, snapping his attention back to Monteague who still wore that smug grin, cigarette held between his teeth, not budging as Butler relieved him of his pistol.

"Good. I didn't want to leave." Monteague shook his head a little, "I was _pretty_ sure you were getting ready to kick my fat ass out of here after blindfolding me and driving me around the block a few times."

"What's your game, Monteague?"

Monteague took a deep inhale through the cigarette, and then flicked the tip of it with his tongue, letting the ashes drop mostly on his shirt. His hands remained in the air. "It's not obvious? I'm joining your cause."

"How many geth did you kill?"

"Shut up, Melanis. Join our cause?" Garrus continued to watch Monteague through narrowed eyes.

"Killing mercs. I've been trying to drink myself to death for four years now. It's taking longer than I thought it would. And it's not nearly as much fun as you'd think. Nah," Monteague shook his head a little. "They've given me four years of hell. It's only fair that I give them a little hell back."

Intense turian eyes remained on the human for a moment longer, before he motioned to Weaver to lower his weapon. "What happened?"

Monteague's lips curled in a frown, and he lowered his arms, glancing at Weaver. "They killed my wife." He turned his attention back to Garrus, "She was part of an archeological dig on Eletania. I still don't know what hell the Blue Suns wanted out there. Whatever it was, she died for it." He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, and then sucked on his cigarette, watching the turian closely.

Garrus glanced to Weaver. The human opened and closed his mouth a few times before shrugging, "He was Alliance. He's… changed a lot, b-but I guess I vouch for him."

The turian's gaze slid back to Monteague. He was wearing that grin again. "You realize you're forcing my hand."

"That was the intention," Monteague said through grinning teeth.

"You're going to need to clean up your act. If you show up to a job wasted I will jettison your naked ass over Tuchanka during thresher maw mating season, you hear me?"

"Aye aye, sir." Monteague saluted lazily.

"You _did_ kill Saren, right? That didn't automatically make you a Spectre?"

"God damn it, Melanis, go find something constructive to do!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Oh, hello there. Welcome to Chapter 12. More battling. I might slow down a bit with updates, I only have a few more chapters written. Remember! Every time you comment, you can save up to 50% off your future comment purchase. Enjoy.**

* * *

Oswald Ripper's earliest childhood memory was killing ants with a laser. It was a high powered diode that his mother used for arts and crafts, but it was the beginning of a long life of finding creative ways to kill the large variety of nuisances he would encounter in life.

The childhood exploit had also left him blind for nearly a year while his mother attempted to scrounge up enough money for ocular implants. He'd gotten the implants at a discount after his mother also volunteered to sign him up as a test subject for new experimental biotic amp technology. He'd been lucky enough to grow up in an apartment building a bit too close to an eezo refinery, wouldn't you know it. There was some murmuring that this was all part of a vast conspiracy. Section 8 housing next to eezo leaks would create plenty of test subjects for the government to toy with, and they'd all be poor and uneducated, which had several benefits. First off, no one important would care about the fate of the downtrodden if the experiments went wrong and second, they'd be willing to submit to tests for minimal pay to make ends meet.

The results of Ripper's prototype amp were disappointing and far below what the scientists had been hoping for. Oswald didn't seem to display any new biotic powers, even after the introduction of a variety of different drugs to encourage some kind of reaction.

Mrs. Ripper, meanwhile, had reached her breaking point. She's had quite enough of one experiment after another on her sweet, angelic boy. The remainder of her savings went towards booking passage off Earth, and she fled with him to a small colony on Terra Nova. It was a year before something clicked in Oswald's scarred brain, and his biotic powers finally activated. It wasn't long before he was using his newfound abilities to commit petty crimes at first, then minor felonies. And then after a brief stint in jail, it was Eclipse.

It was working for Eclipse that the young Ripper finally found the father figure he'd been searching for all his life. His name was Sokolowski and he was a battle worn old man on the far end of his fifties. Ripper followed the old man on damn near every mission, drinking in every story he had to share.

It was that last quiet night between missions that made the difference. They'd been following a Blood Pack drug runner for weeks, and they'd finally managed to take the ship and cargo. They were headed back to Omega with the pirated shipment when Sokolowski started getting ominous.

"I ain't gonna last much longer, Rip," he had said. "Damn surprised I made it this far. No one gets out of this business alive. The minute you see a chance to get out, you get out, you hear me? You're too smart for this shit." Ripper had solemnly promised to do so, and ten minutes within docking, Sokolowski was dead.

A trio of krogans had been waiting to exact revenge for the stolen drugs. One had charged at Sokolowski, and Ripper stupidly had tried to get in the way. He'd lost an arm for his effort, and was left for dead.

Eclipse's leaders had been less than upset over Sokolowski's death, distancing themselves from the skirmish to avoid a bigger war with Blood Pack. Ripper quietly slipped away from Eclipse, avoiding them for years until an old friend started drunkenly ranting about this new Archangel character on Omega.

Ripper had turned into pretty firm believer of fate and karma. Everything had a way of working out in the end. He lost his arm, but he learned quickly how to use his left hand and his biotics had more than made up for his disability. He sought to atone for his time as a mercenary, and for years he'd managed to stay under Eclipse's radar. Hearing about the vigilante Archangel had to be another sign.

Sort of like Melanis. The pair of them had founded an unlikely but very close mentor/protégé friendship. He lost Sokolowski to become the teacher to an eager young man seeking direction. Everything works out, the world comes full circle.

Concerning Melanis, Sidonis was back to being wrong and Garrus was back to being right. Sort of. While he never voiced it, he was beginning to agree that maybe, just maybe, bringing aboard that Melanis kid was a mistake. By the end of the rookie's first week, Garrus was pleasantly surprised to find that Melanis was making himself an invaluable member of the team.

For one thing, he was _fast_. His lean wiry frame and long legs helped him to cross a battlefield and find cover before anyone else had covered half that amount of ground. While his aim wasn't anything impressive, the speed in which he could unload a sniper rifle (or the shotgun that suited him perfectly), pop the thermal clip, and start again was a thing of beauty.

The second skill in Melanis' favor was his ability to follow directions. Selanis had voiced his concern that the kid would try to play hero out there and showboat in an attempt to prove himself. He couldn't have been more wrong. Melanis moved like an extension of his commander, carrying out exactly what was demanded of him without asking questions or adding his own flourishes.

Kid would have made a great soldier. His showboating was saved until after the job was done.

"Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?"

"Caught it on video." Ripper crouched over the smoking remains of the salarian Eclipse, his helmet and chest plate shattered from Melanis' close range shotgun blast.

Grinning, Melanis leaned into the middle aged human, "Play it, lemme see."

Ripper chuckled, shaking his head. He flicked his wrist in a specific direction, his omni-tool illuminating. An image appeared over the glowing device of a panicking salarian firing wildly at the advancing turian. Melanis danced from side to side, zig sagging, bullets whizzing past him, before he shoved his shotgun against the Eclipse merc's chest and fired.

"Damn!" Melanis hooted in delight. "I dodged like five shots, did you see that?"

"I counted two." Ripper straightened, scanning the area. It was a warehouse just off the Eclipse owned loading bay, now empty of mercenary guards. Eclipse's hold on Omega wasn't nearly as strong as the Blue Suns or Blood Pack. Their territory was smaller, operations quieter. That made it harder to hide their shipping bays, but they'd turned Omega into a major port for their drug running. Red sand, hallex, Minagen X3, it could all be found here, waiting to be shipped to planets and colonies that would pay top dollar for illicit substances.

Melanis scowled, "It wasn't two, play it again."

"Later," Ripper murmured. He flicked his wrist again, the omni-tool display disappearing. He had Vortash help him tweak it to make it mostly hands free. Cheaper than buying a new cybernetic arm. "We've still got a lot of work to do."

If anyone had asked him, Melanis would have said that Ripper was not what he expected. The name brought up images of some huge battle scarred human with a buzz cut, cigar, and tough as nails attitude. The real Ripper was skinny with shaggy blond hair and beard. He also had a surprising spiritual and superstitious side, always quick to point out what events were prophetic, what random things they happened across had a deeper meaning.

Melanis nodded to Ripper with a slight sigh, rising up on his toes to scan the large storage room. He tapped the comm inside his ear. "This floor is clear."

"Copy that," rang Archangel's voice. "Bringing in the truck. Vortash is heading your way, take him upstairs, see if you find anything interesting. "

Melanis nodded, "Copy," turning to look towards the side door. The mission was one they'd run before. Attack a drug shipment, take it, and space it. If there was time, hack and steal their files to know their next move. The door opened, and Vortash ducked inside, looking about quickly.

"You want to hang back while we sweep the second floor?" Ripper asked with a cocked brow, "Should be empty."

The batarian shot him a dark look. "I do not want to hang back, I'm fine," he growled. He'd been laid up almost two weeks, but was getting increasingly irritated. The scar along the side of his neck had not completely healed, still an angry raised scowl along his skin. Vortash had his pistol in hand, scanning the boxes, nose wrinkling. "This is red sand?"

"From the intel we gathered, yeah," Ripper answered, turning to take the stairs two at a time.

"In these large crates?" Vortash trailed behind, counting the crates. "They've been trying to sneak through smaller amounts since we've been hitting them."

"Archangel will crack them open when the truck gets here. Come on."

The second floor of the warehouse had more of the large crates and seemed deserted. The delivery had been lightly guarded. Vortash slowed to a stop before one of the crates, rapping his knuckles on the outside. "Something isn't right."

Melanis began walking up and down the lines of stacked crates, looking for any Eclipse mercs that might be hiding. "Archangel?"

"I heard him," came Archangel's voice. "I'm still watching outside, no re-enforcements are showing up. Nobody is out here, it's a damn ghost town." He frowned, lifting his head from his scope. "Weaver, hurry your ass up. Where is that truck?"

Vortash stepped back, frowning, his four eyes moving from crate to crate. "We should leave."

Melanis turned to look back at the increasingly nervous batarian. "Wh-" There was a sudden bang, and Melanis spun backwards before falling to the ground.

Ripper and Vortash turned in time to see a salarian on the opposite end of the room, standing behind a crate, holding up a pistol. He ducked back out of view, fingers running quickly over his omni-tool.

"Dammit, Melanis is hit!" Ripper shouted, bounding towards the salarian at full speed.

"I'm fine," Melanis was already getting back to his feet, grimacing, his kinetic shield glittering as it came back online. "Just one more guy."

The next thing the trio heard was whirring from the crates, and a soft pleasant voice coming from each, "Booting up. Now online."

Vortash's eyes widened as he took a step back, "Oh, fuck."


	13. Chapter 13

**Welcome back. More battling, so I hope you like battling. Remember! Every time you comment, Grunt is given something to smash. I've got a baby grand piano lined up next for him. Enjoy!**

* * *

Mechs. There were easily forty of the crates here, and each one contained a LOKI security mech. And the crates were opening.

"I'm coming in!" Archangel shouted over the radio, ducking out of his sniper point, running for the stairs.

Weaver's voice crackled over the radio, "We're outside, we lost radio contact, what the hell is g-going on?"

"Mechs!" Vortash shouted with a hint of panic, watching one after another unfold itself from inside the crates. He backed away, pulling out his M-8, firing at the one closest to him.

"Target located," came the pleasant mechanized voice, and the LOKI lifted its pistol to return fire.

Ripper was still chasing the running salarian down, while Melanis spun to fire at the mech nearest to him, then dove for cover behind a desk.

"How many mechs? When did they get mechs? Mechs to guard d-drugs?" Weaver asked, still trying to catch up. He caught sight of Archangel sprinting towards the warehouse's front door, and quickly chased after, Erash at his heels.

"There aren't any drugs," Archangel growled. "This was a trap." Eclipse put out false information to lure him here. He should have seen that. Damn it. He lifted a foot to kick in the front door, then blinked, stepping back, stunned by the sheer number of mechs. He could see at least thirty here, and another ten up on the second story platform where Melanis, Vortash, Ripper, and the salarian were. But not just any salarian. _Velig_. He and his brother ran Eclipse on Omega. It looked like he came out here to take care of Archangel personally.

Velig kept on running from Ripper, sprinting down the stairs two at a time, weaving in between the mechs that recognized him alone as friendly. Ripper let out a "Shit!" and stumbled back up the way he came as the mechs laid heavy fire on him. He swept his arm upwards, teeth gritting. A biotic shockwave rolled away from him, sending several mechs as well as Velig flying into the air and then crashing heavily back to the ground.

Velig let out a yelp of pain as one of the mechs landed atop him. The machine beeped then apologized, crawling off the salarian and offering to him help up.

Vortash slid into Melanis' cover, shaking his head, tapping his wrist to bring up his omni-tool's display. "Fucking mechs. Keep them off for like three more seconds…"

"God damn!" Weaver shouted, sliding into cover behind the open warehouse door, while Erash slipped behind an empty crate beside Archangel. "It's a god damned army!"

"Vortash all right?" Erash asked into the radio, leaning out of cover to take out two mechs with his SMG.

"Stop asking me that, dammit! I've had bigger holes in me from body piercings, Erash! Shut up and let me concentrate!" He scrolled through the omni-tool's display, seeing out the mech's communication frequency. Velig covered his tracks well. It wouldn't be a snap to hack in and take control of the mechs.

Archangel leaned over a crate, peering through his scope as he took out another mech on the platform, trying to keep as many off Vortash and Melanis as possible. His team was laying some damage into the machines, but they wouldn't be able to keep up against these numbers for long. One mech rounded his cover, then another, both bots firing rapidly into his shields. He cursed, pushing Erash out of the way, "Move! New cover, go, go!"

Ripper was now back with Melanis and Vortash, making a fist, eyes narrowed. Three more mechs lit up with his biotic energy, floating into the air and over the platform's railing. "Where'd Velig go?"

Velig was moving with one of the mechs, being escorted to a side door. Archangel spotted him first, adjusting his sights to the salarian. He held his breath, steadying his shot, then fired. There was a cloud of green blood, and Velig spilled onto the floor, twitching. "No longer a problem."

"Got it!" Vortash whooped, "Got it, mother fucker! One! Hack that shit!"

One of the mechs who had been descending the staircase, walking towards the three men below, paused briefly. Its lights blinked, turning from red to white, then it turned and began firing on the other mechs. "Hostiles recognized," it sang in friendly tones.

"Yeah, one. Bravo," Melanis hissed through clenched teeth, ducking back behind the desk. "Can you do that again? Like, twenty more times?"

"You want to do it, Junior? Be my fucking guest."

Ripper remained behind cover for another few moments, sweat beading on his brow. He leaned out, firing a few more times at the army of mechs, then sucked in a breath, lifting up his arm and sending three more floating helplessly into the air. A slow trickle of blood began to dribble from his nose. He really needed to upgrade his biotic implant. He really should have done that already.

Archangel quickly took out Velig's escort bot, then dove back behind cover as he felt his kinetic shield shatter. He should have brought Mierin along. An explosion would help about now. Or Krul. A charging krogan could have done a lot of damage. Chalk it up as another fuck-up on Garrus' behalf. He sucked in a breath and shouted into the radio, "Archangel to anyone on the channel and not here! GET HERE!"

Slim chance. This was supposed to be easy. Everyone else slipped away for the weekend to have social lives. Hell, Butler had a family. Half the time Garrus had to throw the man out of the base to go spend time with them.

The hacked mech jogged backwards, firing with incredible accuracy. Five shots at one LOKI, turn, repeat.

Erash kept moving, drawing fire. He slid behind another crate, fingers moving quickly over his omni-tool. Vortash was the tech expert on this team, but he'd taught his brother a thing or two, giving him a few handy upgrades. Erash leaned out of cover, holding out his arm and a flash of light blast from his omni-tool. It was a close range EMP that overloaded the mech that was closing in on him, and it stumbled back and fell. Erash dove back behind cover, and the mech twitched on the floor before it popped with a small explosion, knocking the leg off another LOKI right beside it. That mech hopped once, then fell.

"Ugh!" Weaver ducked back behind his cover, then scrambled across the room, blood pouring from his ear. LOKI mechs didn't strategize. They didn't duck or stop to think, they just came at you, firing endlessly. And shoot your ears. "What would happen if we retreated?" He wiped the blood off his neck, and ran to the bottom of the stairs, crouching and firing at those on the second level. It was getting clear enough up there for Melanis, Ripper, and Vortash to make a break for it.

"We'd live another day?" Ripper hopped over his cover, laying down cover fire, "Go, downstairs, go!" He sucked in a breath and threw up a biotic barrier, watching Melanis and Vortash sprint from behind the crates and run for the first floor. Ripper threw the barrier at the remaining mechs, knocking them down. He ran for the stairs to regroup, vision blurring. "Fuck me…" He put a hand to his head.

"They'd just follow us, these things don't give up!" Archangel barked. "Keep moving!"

Ripper collapsed behind a crate, wiping the blood from his face. Melanis slid into place beside him. Ripper overexerted himself. "Go get in the van, Ripper!" He glanced behind him, and blinked, spying Velig still on the floor, and still breathing. Still alive. "You gotta be shitting me." The turian ducked under the mech fire, crawling closer to the salarian. He was sputtering a death rattle into his omni-tool, something in his native tongue. Melanis scowled at him, turning his shotgun and settling the muzzle of it under Velig's chin.

Velig's eyes widened as he stared at the turian over him. "Archangel," he gasped, green blood foaming at the corners of his mouth.

Melanis' right mandible lifted in a crooked grin, and he fired, putting the salarian out of his misery and leaving the floor covered in his brain matter. "Nnnope." He refocused his attention on Ripper now that he was standing in front of the side door, "Go already!" He lifted the shotgun to drop another mech, his own kinetic shield shattering under the barrage.

"Like hell. Gun still works even if my biotics are blinking out on me." Ripper rolled onto his knees, returning fire.

Vortash had found a new hiding spot and was again trying to hack a mech. He looked up to see Erash sliding in behind him, leaning out to fire at the mechs and keep him covered. "Oh, fuck you. Draw them over here, that's just awesome."

"You are such a whiny ungrateful little bitch."

"Did I ask you to come over here? Did I? Did I ask you to follow me to Archangel? No. So fuck you." Vortash laughed suddenly, slapping his knee, "Got another one!"

Another LOKI chirped, "Hostiles. Drop your weapons, please," before it too turned and fired on the other mechs.

"Keep it up, Vortash!" Archangel shouted. They were gaining. Bit by bit. They were dropping them one at a time, working as a team, and turning the tide. "Erash, overload the one heading towards Ripper, that'll take out two more when it goes off. Melanis, run down the middle to me, keep 'em spinning! Weaver, you've got two on your ass, I said keep moving!" Damn. He might actually be good at this. Here he thought he was fooling himself for the past year. He leaned out of cover again, watching each of his men performing exactly as he'd asked, and by the time Melanis had crossed the room, they were down to nine hostile mechs.

Weaver slid back beside Archangel, grinning ear to bleeding ear. "This is easy."

"You're going to jinx us." He leaned out of cover, narrowing his eyes, popping off two more rounds, watching the mechs fall. "You've got red on you."

"Yeah, I know. Nicked me. I'll live." He wiped his ear, looking at his hand.

Melanis was still running back and forth and around in circles, drawing fire. He let out a yelp, throwing himself behind cover, "God damn it, Erash, shoot at the mechs, not me!"

"Don't run into my bullets then! You all right?"

"Yeah… ow." He rolled back to his feet slowly, hand cupping his stomach as he scanned the room. "We done already?"

The floor was littered with disembodied robot limbs and white plastic shrapnel. Archangel rose slowly, breathing hard. He scanned the room as a grin slowly spread on his face. "Amazing work, gentlemen. Hot damn." He shook his head a little in disbelief. "Injuries?"

"What?" Weaver asked with a wide grin of his own, cupping his bloody ear.

"That thing is gonna hurt like a bitch when the adrenaline wears off," Erash observed, and turned to look Vortash over. "We're good."

Ripper was back on his feet, leaning against one of the crates, looking nauseous. "Good here. Melanis?"

"Bruised… ugh. You might have cracked me. I'm good." He straightened with a wince, then laughed, "Six men versus forty LOKIs. That is going on my resume."

Archangel had wandered back to the dead salarian. He crouched to activate the dead man's omni-tool, playing back the last transmission. "Now we can retreat. He's got reinforcements coming." He looked over Velig as he straightened. "And we got one of the two Eclipse bosses. This calls for a celebration."


	14. Chapter 14

**Oh, hello there. Yes, I haven't updated this story in awhile. Honestly, it's the chapter after this one that has me hung up, and I wasn't completely happy with this one. But inspiration struck last night, and I'll get back to work on this story. In the meantime, have you been reading my other, far more popular story? Remember! Every time you comment, do a shot.**

* * *

Garrus didn't go out and celebrate often. A handful of his men were former mercs and would be killed on sight if they headed into the wrong area. Aside from a few spots that were specifically claimed by Aria T'Loak as _hers_, all of Omega was controlled by one gang or another. A bar safe for Erash and Vortash out of Blue Sun territory would be smack in the middle of Eclipse ground and be off limits for Ripper. Once they'd returned to their base and tended to injuries, Melanis had talked all of them into slipping into Afterlife.

Afterlife was packed at all hours. While Garrus liked to use terms like morning, afternoon, and night, they really had no meaning here. There was no sun to rise to signal the beginning of a new day. Omega didn't sleep. They'd managed to find a table in a dark corner of the night club, and the batarian brothers disappeared almost instantly to work the room.

Melanis leaned back in his chair, twisting the cap off a quarian brand of ale, "Friggin' sausage fest hanging out with you assholes. And there are absolutely no turian women here." His total injuries had consisted of a few neat notches and bruises in his plastron. The kid was lucky.

Ripper blinked at him, "How can you tell?"

"The hell are you talking about?" Melanis stared back at Ripper.

"I've _never_ seen any turian women here," he drawled, taking a big swallow from his own drink. He still had a throbbing headache from overuse of his biotics. Nothing a handful of aspirin and a night of healthy drinking couldn't momentarily cure.

"Are you serious?"

Weaver tilted his head, scanning Afterlife's patrons, "I don't believe I've ever seen a turian woman, p-period."

"You can't be serious. There's like six of them working in the markets."

"There are?" Weaver looked at Ripper, then back at the young man. "I've never-… okay, what're the physical differences b-between turian men and women?"

"Are you serious?" Melanis asked yet again, leaning forward. "Their hips are wider. Mandibles sharper, legs longer, shoulders narrower, frill has more of a curve, completely different shades of markings for women." He motioned at his face, and then shook his head at the mystified expressions from his human friends. "They _smell _different, they _move _different. You're serious that you can't tell the difference, aren't you? Wow. Humans _are _thick."

"There're good looking girls here, look." Ripper set down his glass, motioning a gaggle of human women across the room, dressed up and giggling to one another.

Melanis scanned them over dubiously, one brow arching. He took another swig from his ale, and then nodded with sudden determination. "What the hell. First time for everything. You're wing man." He hopped to his feet, thin talon-like fingers idly smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt.

Ripper snorted, getting to his feet and scratching his beard. "Like hell I am. Dibs on the redhead."

Weaver shook his head, watching the two of them disappear into the crowd, and then looked to Garrus. "I was kind of esp-expecting to see Sensat here. You want another beer?"

The turian looked at the swallow left in his bottle and shrugged. "Sure. Get it from the turian," he reminded. Weaver nodded, digging his credit chit from his pocket and slipped away to the bar, leaving Garrus alone. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, scanning the faces in the club. Always on guard. Sure, he said celebrate, but he could never really relax.

One table over, a pair of asari gyrated on either side of an enthusiastic human patron. The turian tilted his head slightly, watching. Asari never did much for him, to be honest. But the patron was a young punk who was probably burning through a recent score. Garrus could make out the curves of a Blue Suns tattoo just above the young man's collar.

Small time, Garrus thought to himself, lifting his drink to his mouth, returning to his scanning. He next spotted another turian walking towards him. One of Aria's men. Garrus' eyes flitted to her usual platform. It was hard to make her out from the club floor. She'd picked a strategic location. Be hard as hell to get a shot at her. As if anyone could get in here with a weapon without her permission.

Garrus looked back at the turian. He was stopping at Garrus' table now, placing his hand on the back of Garrus' chair. "Aria wants to see you."

"Me?" Garrus blinked innocently and took a long draw from his beer. "What did I do?"

"I'm not stupid enough to ask her questions," the turian sneered. "She wants to see you."

Garrus let out a long sigh, putting down his bottle. "I _am _irresistible," he said in a resigned way, getting to his feet. He'd met Aria once before when he first arrived nearly a year ago. Before he was the Archangel.

Somehow he'd caught her attention. It was hard to say how. He was keeping to himself, getting a feel for the place. Learning faces, learning names. Learning how things worked on Omega. He knew exactly what he'd wanted to do on this damn rock. He'd already picked out his first target: a pimp named Shinky. He'd managed to follow Shinky into Afterlife. For some reason they actually let him in. He wasn't going to question his good luck.

But in the next five minutes, one of Aria's men, a human that time, came over and said the exact same words a turian would a year later. "Aria wants to see you."

He'd been on Omega for all of two weeks and he learned the name fast. He blinked at the human, dumbfounded, and then nodded, making his way up to her platform overlooking the club.

She didn't rise when he approached, only sat there with arms crossed and a dour expression, watching her men check him for weapons before they let him approach. "We've got a fucking legend on Omega."

He'd winced a little at her words, putting up his hands, "I came here to disappear. That's all." One of her guards gave him a little push, and he stepped up onto her dais.

"Uh huh." The dark asari rose, "I looked into you, Vakarian. Someone thought you might be an undercover Spectre."

"I'm not," he said in an annoyed voice.

"I know." She gave him a little smile. "Like I said, I looked into you." Her arms crossed as she gave him a long look over, taking in every detail of him. "I only wanted to let you know that I'm watching you."

Looked like she still was. He nodded to the turian guard, and once again headed to Aria's platform at the back of the club. Not much had changed since his first audience with the queen. But she awaited him not with a scowl but with a smirk. She was lounging on her throne, arms spread and resting on the back of her seat. She lifted a hand, crooking a finger at him to beckon him closer.

Garrus lifted a brow, slipping past her men and approaching cautiously. The hell was this about? She didn't know, did she? People liked to say nobody could so much as fart in the wrong direction without Aria T'Loak knowing about it. "Miss T'Loak."

"Mr. Vakarian," she murmured, her honey voice warm. "It's been some time since I've seen you in here. Celebrating something?"

"It's my birthday."

She smirked at that, motioning to the seat to her right, "There's been some interesting things going on here on Omega."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. Someone tried to kill Bangren Garm two weeks ago. Blood Pack leader."

"You don't say." He sat beside her, casually folding his hands between his knees.

"And just tonight, someone killed Velig Charlap. Eclipse leader. Same someone, if you want to believe the rumors."

"No kidding?" he said, feeling the hyoid bone in his throat start to flutter. Were he human, he'd be breaking into a cold sweat.

The corner of the asari's mouth turned up. "Whoever this guy is, he's smart enough to avoid me and my people. Well." She shrugged a little, crossing her legs.

His eyes narrowed as she seemed to catch herself, holding something back. "Well what?" Archangel was careful with Aria. She took a cut of everything bought and sold on Omega, ran all the gambling and entertainment, and had her people acting as a sort of corrupt police. In many ways she wasn't as bad as the mercs. But she was far more dangerous. The day was coming that he was going to have to have a showdown with her. But that day was not today.

She watched him, still with that little sly smile. "Nevermind. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this guy, would you?"

"No ma'am," he shook his head. "Keeping my nose clean."

"Uh-huh. You give me a call if you think of anything." She swept her fingers in his direction, dismissing him.

Garrus watched her a moment longer. This little chat was nothing but a display of her power. Letting him know she knew what was going on, or at least suspected, and she could bring him down any time she wanted. She wanted to see how it all would shake out. Archangel was amusing her. He was probably the best entertainment she had in centuries. "Right…" He rose at last, turning and slipping back into the Club.

He wanted to get the hell out of here. He wanted to get somewhere quiet and just relax. The opportunity to do so rarely presented itself. Garrus found Weaver looking lost at his table, spotting the bandage over his ear glowing violet in the blacklight. He clapped the man on the shoulder, speaking loudly into his good ear over the music, "Hey, I'm gonna go check in on something, don't wait up!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Oh, hello. Been awhile since I've updated this story, I know. I was really struggling with this chapter, but inspiration struck last night, so here you go. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all my commentors: MyNameIsAverage , Razorsmile, Gone Rampant, Iknowtoomuch, Paradox Unintentional, Chicho, and Incoqnito. Remember! Every time you comment, you get a free invisible internet doughnut. With sprinkles. Enjoy.**

* * *

The drell was an Afterlife regular. Aria T'Loak didn't spend all her hours lounging up in her tower overlooking the place. She was a busy woman, and her appearances there were actually quite rare. So Sensat was an Afterlife regular.

Archangel had given him the night off, the rest of the team running a quick and easy hit that must have been successful, because Erash and Vortash were both at the club. He'd spotted them when he slipped past the bouncer, smiled at a waitress, and made his way to the bar. The elder batarian was chatting up a human female while Vortash was already three sheets to the wind. Smiling crookedly to himself, Sensat turned on a heel and headed their way.

"Vortash, my friend," he called out cheerfully, slapping the man on the back. "Successful night?"

Vortash looked over, each of his four eyes blinking a few times, completely out of synch. The fact that he greeted the sick fuck drell with a broad grin was further evidence he was shitfaced. "Sessat! Fuck yes! We-…" He caught himself, glancing about then leaned in closer to the drell, voice dropping. "We killed Velig."

"No shit," Sensat said with a grin. "Sorry I missed it."

"Yeeeah, Garrus is here somewhere. I dunno. Not hanging out with 'im in here. Or th' humans. She doesn't count." He motioned to the dark woman that Erash currently had his arm around.

Erash rolled his four eyes at his brother, "He's still on his painkillers. Turned him into a lightweight."

"At least he's a happy drunk," Sensat murmured with a grin.

"Fuck yes," Vortash nodded his head vigorously. He crooked a finger at Sensat, motioning him closer, "Hey. Hey, you 'member that time I told you I screwed an asari?"

"Yes?"

"I _lied_."

"No!" Sensat gasped, feigning shock.

"Yeah, but _you_."

"You want to screw me?"

"Nooo. Shut up, no." Vortash shook his head, three eyes closing, one remaining fixed on the drell. Erash snickered into his lady's shoulder. "No. You have had asari."

"Hundreds."

"You hafta set me up, man. You have to. You _have _to."

Sensat leaned on his elbows on the table, grinning broadly at the plastered bataraian. "Do I now?"

"You _have _to."

"I have to.'

"Listen." Vortash adopted a serious expression, and then seemed to forget what he was going to say. "Listen," he repeated.

"Sensat!" Melanis had found them, coming up behind the drell with a grin.

Sensat glanced over and chuckled, hooking an arm around the turian and giving his fringe a playful tug before releasing him. "I heard what went down. Good work."

"Yeah! Ripper caught it on video, you're going to have to watch it. Hey." Melanis rested his hands on the table, "Did you see that Aria was here?"

"What?" Sensat was suddenly tense, alert, looking to the platform overlooking the club.

"I've lived on Omega all my life and I've only seen her, like, six times." Melanis held up all his fingers. "I mean, I still didn't see her, technically, but everyone is saying that she was just here."

"The bouncer said she wasn't," Sensat murmured, his brows pulling together. "She's gone now, though, right?"

Vortash snorted into his drink, "What, you slept with 'er, too?"

"Yes, actually," Sensat flashed a smile, then rested a hand on Vortash's back, "I've got a friend. I'll send her your way, Vortash. Turn on the charm, big daddy."

* * *

The day that Vortash discovered he was a father was a Thursday. It was an atypical Thursday in that he and his big brother Erash decided to slip into batarian space and visit their ailing mother on Lorek.

The batarian hegemony was not too keen on its citizens leaving batarian controlled space, but emigration was rampant, and it was never all that hard to get in or out of the outlying colonies. Especially not for a pair of Blue Sun mercenaries.

Their mother had been being especially moody and more bitchy than usual. "Three years! My only two boys, the last people I have left in this galaxy wait three fucking years to visit their sick mother?" So the pair of them quickly departed the rest home to cause trouble downtown. Vortash's omni-tool had been going crazy since they'd landed with repeated calls and messages from an old flame, a woman named Gurkta.

Vortash had tried to ignore the calls. Last thing he needed was another woman harping on him. He and Erash had found a bar, hit on a few women, and roughed up a few patrons before Vortash was drunk enough to forget he was avoiding Gurkta. It was apparent to his inebriated self that the admittedly sexy woman wanted not to bitch at him, but rather missed his unique brand of batarian loving, and he talked Erash into driving them over to her place. Erash agreed, and followed him into her apartment, needing to take a piss.

This had been a mistake. Gurkta greeted the brothers with a fury the like of which neither of them had ever seen. Batarian women are generally encouraged to be submissive and well behaved, but Gurkta flung a chair at Vortash as soon as he stepped inside.

"Asshole!" she screeched. "I have been trying to get in touch with you for three goddamn years! NOW you show up?"

Vortash blinked his four eyes, ducking the chair and sobering up quickly under the assault. "What the hell…? I've been busy!"

"Busy?" Gurkta stared at him in disbelief, then grabbed a cooking pot from the counter and lobbed that at him. "Too busy to answer a fucking message?"

"Whuh…" Vortash dodged the pot, its contents splattering against the wall, "it's not always easy to get a signal out in space, Gurkta, y'know…"

Erash had stepped out of the way of the battle, looking about for the restroom. Protective as he was of his brother, he was not getting in the middle of this one. But he was the first to see Kikka.

She was small and skinny, all long thin legs and arms with a round little belly, hiding in the corner behind a frayed divan. She wore only a pair of leggings that she'd long outgrown, the cuffs ending halfway up her calves. She had four big eyes the color of oil droplets; skin a soft warm yellow with a green stripe running up each temple and curling back over her perfectly round little head. Erash stopped in his tracks.

Vortash had green stripes running up his temples, too.

Shit. "Vortash?" said Erash.

The other batarian had now gotten over his shock of being assaulted by the woman and was enthusiastically screaming back at her. "What business is it of yours where I go or what I do? You're not my damn wife!"

"Vortash."

"Oh, I pity the woman thick enough to marry you! I constantly question what lapse of judgment ever led me to even sleep with you!"

"Vortash."

"_What?_"Vortash spun on Erash and blinked at the little girl who was cautiously approaching his outstretched hand.

Gurkta crossed her arms with a smug smirk. "That." she said, motioning to the child, "is yours."

"What?" Vortash turned back to the woman, all four eyes wide.

"She is yours." Gurkta cocked her right eyebrows. "And I can't afford to keep her anymore."

"Does she have a name?" Erash asked, scooping the girl up once she was close enough. Batarian children mature quickly, and by age three Kikka was the equivalent of a human six year old. The girl rubbed at the tattoo on the man's chin, her brows pulling together in confusion when it didn't wipe off.

Gurkta shot Erash a dark look, "Of course she does. Kikka. I can't get any work, Vortash," she rounded back on him. "You know what kind of shit I've had to put up with? The temple is done taking care of me. I was lucky to get three years out of them and I am about to get kicked out of this apartment." She crossed her arms, jaw flexing in irritation.

Vortash narrowed his eyes at her, then shook his head. "You're asking me to take her with me?" he sputtered. "I'm a fucking mercenary!"

The woman shook her head, "I can't get any _work_, Vortash. Did you hear me?" Gurkta was _thuk'tek_. Shamed. No one would hire a woman with a child out of wedlock. Her social status was at the very bottom now, even with widows, cripples, and the insane. The thuk'tek were only one step above slaves. There were charitable organizations for the thuk'tek, of course, such as the temple she frequented. But the batarian government had recently instated limits on "handouts" to thuk'tek to discourage their taking advantage of the system.

"Why didn't you just…" he motioned at the air, frowning as he looked back at the little girl in Erash's arms. "Take care of it at some clinic?" Some underground, highly illegal, very expensive clinic.

Gurkta rolled her eyes at him, "First, you have no idea what these things cost. And second, you could have paid for it if you'd answer your fucking messages! And third, that isn't helping the situation we are in right now!"

"We?" Vortash scoffed.

"Look," Gurkta rubbed her temples. "I've already got it all set up with a wealthy family on Khar'shan. They're willing to take her. She's old enough to work." Gurkta paused, mouth twisting up as she watched Kikka in Erash's arms.

Erash had Kikka by the wrists now, swinging her back and forth through the air and making her giggle. He scowled at Gurkta, "You're selling her into slavery?"

"She'll be a house girl. For a very wealthy and respected family. Better than working in a mine somewhere." She sighed, sitting on her ratty old couch. "It'll give me enough money to get out of here and start over."

Vortash had gone silent, his arms crossed, his mouth twisted in a deep scowl, four eyes on the swinging girl. "This is about money, isn't it? You want money."

Her eyes rolled, "Yes, Vortash, getting pregnant and raising a kid all on my own was part of my grand master scheme to get money out of you. Go to hell."

"What if we gave you both enough money to get out of here?" Erash asked.

"I am not giving her a fucking dime."

"What if _I_ gave you both enough money to get out of here?"

Gurkta shook her head, "I am not going to live in some human infested non-batarian colony. I am not raising my child in a non-batarian colony."

Erash twirled Kikka and snagged her by the ankles, hanging her upside down and making her squeal with laughter. "We could keep her."

"Are you insane?" Vortash began to pace back and forth now. "She's not a goddamned puppy, Erash, she is a person." And mercenary life was no place for a little girl.

"The family that wants to take her is a good one." Gurkta's voice had lowered, shifting from angry to sad. "It's the best option. She'll have a roof over her head… Hell, she'll live in a damn mansion. Be fed, have clean clothes." She chuckled humorlessly, rubbing her face with a hand, "She'll have a better life as a slave than I could give her as a free batarian."

On Erash's insistence the brothers stayed for hours, playing with and getting to know the sweet little girl with an active imagination. Vortash hung back, watching from a distance as Kikka deemed Erash a king, a pirate, a soldier, and the batarian equivalent of a pony before the night was over and she finally succumbed to sleep.

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing?" Gurkta had whispered in a shaky voice when the men finally prepared to go.

Vortash had nodded to her, his face a mask, "You're doing the right thing."

Six years later, the brothers were aboard a Blue Suns vessel that had stumbled across a luxury ship on a pleasure cruise along the edge of the Terminus Systems. The captain, who was not above a little piracy, had decided to take advantage of their good fortune. The ship was taken, the passengers killed and the bodies looted. Vortash and Erash were doubling back over a floor that their fellow mercenaries had already cleared out to see if anything of value was missed.

It was the floor with the slave quarters.

Later, Vortash would be certain that he already knew he would find her there, in that room with all the other dead slaves. Kikka had grown so much, tall and pretty, even wrapped up in the dingy gray garments of a servant. She was dead, of course, shot several times through the chest. One of the other mercenaries had been here, under orders to leave no survivors. Later he told himself he could be happy she wasn't kept alive for amusement.

In a rage, Vortash had attacked the two mercs who'd cleared the room with gunfire, while Erash was dumbstruck and numb. The other Blue Suns had eventually pulled him off the bloodied men, locked him and Erash in a room where they were both bound and beaten until they got back to Omega.

Tarak, the leader of the Blue Suns on Omega, had asked if the recent events were going to be a problem. He didn't need any more problems, not with this Archangel character running around. Vortash had assured Tarak that no, it wouldn't be a problem at all. That he was ready to go back to work.

He and Erash left the meeting to find the renegade vigilante and join up with him themselves.

There had been too many innocents.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Oh, hi. I have been slow posting this story because I've been slow writing this story. Sorry. I hope you're still enjoying it. This chapter has a joke/true story from my pop's police officer days, so I hope you get a kick out of that. Also in this chapter, Garrus gets laid. Yay Garrus. Remember! Every time you comment you are entered into a drawing to win tickets to Blasto 2: Revenge of the Tentacle._**

* * *

**Ch. 16**

There used to be this great café in the Tayseri Ward called Common Grounds. They served a wide variety of hot drinks and pastries from every end of the universe, including ganiae, the turian version coffee. Best damn ganiae on the Citadel; thick and full of grit that would melt on your tongue, sweet as nectar, and the color of Pavalen beach sand. The doughnuts were always stale by the time their patrol took them to that end of the Ward, but the cute barista never failed to have a fresh pot waiting every time Garrus and his then partner Aculeo made their daily visit towards the end of their shift.

There was this one time the pair of them sat enjoying their ganiae in comfortable silence at one of the bright orange booths when a hanar cautiously approached.

"This one asks forgiveness for disturbing the officers."

Garrus and Aculeo looked at the hanar, their paper cups held in mid air as the two C-Sec officers froze.

The hanar shifted from tentacle to tentacle, his bioluminescence blinking nervously. It spoke again, "This one is most apologetic, but the officers' vehicle does say 'to protect and serve…'"

Aculeo shook his head, "His side of the car says that. Mine says fuck off."

Had Garrus been sipping his drink at that moment, he would have done a memorable spit take. Instead he quickly lowered his cup, hand lifting to cover his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter while the hanar's lights flashed with indignation.

That café was gone, now. Aculeo was killed in the Reaper attack, and the only place he could get a decent cup of ganiae these days was from a girl named Livonine.

He wasn't exactly living like a monk up on Omega. It _was _Omega. And he never technically stooped so low as to pay for companionship; that would put money right back into the hands of the people he was trying to take down. But he wasn't above flirting or blowing off steam should the opportunity arise. And Livonine wasn't anything serious. The terms were pretty simple, casual, and free of any kind of definition. Two adults with needs. She made good ganiae, and he was good at opening jars, upgrading her door locks, things like that. It was an arrangement that worked for the both of them.

Garrus wasn't even sure he could call her a friend. They met up two or three times a month at the most. She didn't know much about him, and he thought she worked as a mechanic. She talked about vehicles sometimes, so that was a safe assumption. He didn't go to her place and pour out his heart, bemoaning the heavy weight of leadership. She didn't gripe about her kids (if she had any) or any exes. Most conversations were brief and didn't go far beyond pleasantries, jokes, and pop culture references. Truth be told, she wasn't much to look at with her narrow hips and short legs, but she was funny and bright and a welcome escape that was badly needed every so often.

He lay in comfortable silence in the dim light of her place, eyes half closed, her head in the crook of his arm. "You need anything?" he asked at last, his voice lazy, fingers stroking her frill. "You okay on credits?"

"Mm-hmm," Livonine lifted her head to look up at him. She leaned up on an elbow, looking over her shoulder at the clock on the bedside table, eyes squinted. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine." His head tilted a little to one side as he watched her move, then stretch her arms above her head, mandibles shuddering against her cheeks with a yawn. He caught a glint on her chest, and reached a finger out to touch a small green stone on a chain, resting between the ridges of her plastron. "What's this?"

"Amber," she murmured. "You never noticed that?" She arched a brow at him as he shook his head. She rolled onto her stomach, lifting the charm for him to see. "Every woman should have one precious pretty thing. This," she twirled it on the end of the chain, "is green amber. Hundreds of thousands of years old."

"Pretty."

"More than pretty, it was the lifeblood of a living thing. Some ancient plant, growing in the virgin Palaven sunshine, breathing clean air in wide open spaces. Somehow, it got hurt, it bled, and it died. And this is all that's left. But it left proof that it lived, hundreds of thousands of years later, I know that it was there."

"So you're wearing a tree scab."

Livonine smirked at him, rolling her eyes. "Last time I try to get poetic on you."

"Good," Garrus said playfully, leaning over to rest his forehead against hers, "Because you are terrible at it." He slapped her thigh lightly and sat up, sliding out from under the covers, "I have to go."

She watched him over a shoulder, then frowned, rolling over and sitting up, legs folding under her, "Garrus."

"Hm?" he sat on the edge of the bed, sliding one leg into his pants.

"I'm leaving Omega."

His immediate emotional reaction to this news was something unexpected. He didn't want her to go. Garrus felt a sudden gripping pang of possessiveness. Sure, he could talk about exactly what this was and wasn't between them until he was blue in the face, but the sudden idea that she wasn't going to be here in this room, in this apartment… it upset him. Garrus' jaw flexed as his mind worked through the sudden feelings in silence.

"You've been telling me forever to get the hell out of here," Livonine was saying.

Garrus finally nodded, standing and fastening his pants closed, "I have been. And I'm glad you are. I am. You're too good for this place." _I've been working hard to make this place worthy of people like you, but I'm not working fast enough._

Livonine watched him closely; his body language was suddenly rigid and robotic to disguise the sudden surprising conflict inside. "I got a job. I saw this posting on the extranet, and I applied, and they hired me. It's a mining company on Dobrovolski. Altai Mineral Works. Mechanic work." She was silent a beat, eyes following him across the room as he finished dressing. "They're hiring security, too."

Garrus paused, and looked back at her. His jaw flexed again, and he shook his head, pulling on his gloves. "I can't. I can't leave Omega."

She sighed, "I would have called and told you, but I don't have your number,"

"It's fine, Livonine."

"And I'm leaving the end of next week."

"Livonine, it's fine." He stepped towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders, leaning to settle his forehead against hers again. "This is a good thing. You deserve every happiness. And you aren't going to find it here."

"Garrus…" Her light fingers found the sides of his neck, stroking lightly. She exhaled warm air against his face, before tipping her head back, looking up at him. "Take care of yourself, okay? Promise."

"I promise," he said, voice low. He stepped back, letting her hands fall from his neck. He silently collected his guns from her dresser and made his way to the door. "Have a safe trip, kiddo. Good luck." Without another word or backwards glance he was gone, closing the door behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry for such a long delay. I was really struggling with this chapter. Enjoy! Remember, every time you comment, you get the next chapter free.

* * *

Ch. 17

Vortash would groan, but that would make too much noise. Everyone was making too much damn noise, that was the problem. He would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of the day in bed, waiting for the world to stop spinning, but Archangel went and called a meeting.

Before noon. What an _asshole_.

Weaver, the resident den mother, was in the little kitchenette, noisily whipping up a quick feast for the twelve men. In his infinite wisdom, he'd asked Mierin to help, and Mierin never works without music, so now that was adding to the din. It was some irritating salarian techno shit that was driving tiny daggers into the backs of Vortash's eyes.

Vortash sat at the huge dining table with his head in his hands, teeth gritted. Finally, he barked, "Headphones, Mierin!"

"What's that, Vor?" The salarian spun to face him with a grin, calling out a bit too loudly. "Did someone have a little too much fun last night?"

The batarian hung his head, hands over his ears. "I hate every last one of you and am plotting each of your demises, right now."

The drell was here, of course, and he slid into the empty chair beside Vortash, rubbing his back comfortingly. "All right?"

"Don't touch me."

Sensat grinned, lifting a brow, "Do you remember anything from last night?"

Vortash sighed, dropping his arms and looking at the blue-green man. "I remember walking into Afterlife."

"Nothing else?"

He paused, glancing over at Erash. His big brother had stayed out just as late and was looking a bit ragged as he nursed a cup of coffee, but it would appear that no one had drank quite as heavily as himself. "I remember _now_ that it's a bad idea to drink a few hours after taking painkillers…"

"So you don't remember Kemani."

Vortash stared at Sensat a few moments, his brows pulling together. "What's Kemani?"

"The asari I introduced you to." Sensat's grin was slowly growing wider and wider. "The one that took you back to her place."

Vortash's mouth fell open. "What?"

"Kemani. She called me a few hours later and asked that I come pick you up and bring you home. You passed out in the car. You honestly don't remember? I was hoping to get some details. All you would say before you passed out was 'She was blue, she was blue all over.'"

Vortash stared at Sensat in disbelief, mouth hanging open. He finally shook off his astonishment, hissing angrily, "Stop, that is not funny, you are fucking with me. Erash?"

Erash blinked at his name and looked up. "What?"

"Kemani," Sensat said.

"Oh! Yeah, good job there, Vortash." He saluted his stunned brother with his mug, "We want details." He looked to Sensat, "You got any more asari friends?"

Vortash's mouth hung open again as he sagged in his chair. "Unbelievable…"

Everyone had assembled by now. Garrus stood waiting near the door, greeting his men as they came in. The humans were digging into a dish Weaver had deemed French Toast, the scent of which sent waves of nausea through the hung-over batarian. Krul stood glowering in the corner like always, while Melanis hovered near Weaver, waiting impatiently for him to finish preparing a turian dish of black pasta.

The most difficult thing for turians cohabitating with any race other than their own or quarians was the amino acids. The building blocks of turian cells and human cells were so vastly different that digesting one another's food could provoke a violent allergic reaction. Garrus, for one, hated this. Humans were far more adventurous with their cuisine than his own kind. The traditional turian diet was built on a staple of grains, meat, and vegetables without any kind of added spices or flavoring. A few courageous food companies attempted to introduce more variety by way of genetic engineering, but this proved to be a disastrous venture when most of these attempts resulted in irritating stomach ulcers among their consumers.

Black pasta, as Weaver called it, was the most readily available turian food on Omega, along with a turian version of tofu. Quarian merchants who shared the turian dextro-amino acid based anatomy occasionally stopped by with other freeze dried and sterilized produce, but this added only to quantity of choices rather than quality. Even now Garrus looked on enviously as the men drizzled a sticky sweet synthesized syrup over their food. He let out a sigh before pushing away from the wall and stepping closer to the large table. "All right, men, this is where we're at."

A hush settled over the group, aside from the rush of water as Weaver rinsed off the pasta. He dropped it into a bowl and handed it to Melanis. The young turian was quick to grab a pair of tongs and settled in at the table with everyone else with an apologetic grin.

Garrus cleared his throat, "I think everyone knows we killed Velig yesterday."

Ripper hooted, clapping Melanis on the back, "Finishing shot, right here." There was a chorus of cheers and congratulations.

Garrus nodded, holding up his hand, "And everyone that was there performed amazingly. It was a trap, it was an impossible situation to get out of, and we got out of it nearly unscathed. Amazing work, gentlemen." More enthusiastic cheers and hollering filled the little room while Vortash clapped his hands over his ears again. Garrus flexed his mandibles, adopting a serious expression. "It's time to go after Tarak."

These words were met with stunned silence. Sidonis spoke first, a disbelieving "What?"

"We're going after Tarak," Garrus repeated calmly. Tarak, the leader of the Blue Suns, the most powerful mercenary band on Omega. The only person Tarak answered to was Aria. He was a huge, powerful batarian with hundreds of mercenaries at his disposal on Omega alone.

"Are you insane?" Sidonis stared at him a few moments.

"We need to go after him eventually," Garrus lifted a shoulder.

"We haven't hit the Suns hard in months, Garrus," Butler shook his head, leaning forward. "He's hardly in a vulnerable position for us to go after him now."

Krul scowled, "We should have hit Garm again."

"He's gone underground," Sensat looked over his shoulder at the single-minded krogan. "Nobody's seen hide nor scale of him since that night we almost killed him. And Blood Pack's activities have just been random lately." The drell shook his head a little, "What about Jaroth?"

Garrus shook his head, "Chances are good that Eclipse operations are going to freeze while Jaroth deals with Velig's death, and he's going to disappear in the meantime. We have to work on the assumption the Eclipse intel we have is worthless now."

"So we go after Tarak…" Melanis said slowly as Garrus nodded to him.

Sidonis shook his head, pacing the length of the room, "You get lucky and you kill a merc leader and now you're getting overconfident and stupid."

"I think we can do it," Garrus said calmly, watching the other turian.

"I don't like it," Butler said, shaking his head, looking at the other faces around the table. "I'm… kind of with Sidonis on this one. It's suicidal."

Garrus sighed, resting his hands on the table, leaning forward, "I know. This isn't according to the plan. If we were still operating according to plan, we'd still just be attacking drug shipments or running sweeps of seedy neighborhoods. But they know what we do." He pointed to the door. "Eclipse knew our MO and they came damn close to killing us."

"We're predictable," Weaver said thoughtfully, folding his arms.

"Exactly." Garrus slapped the tabletop with his palms, straightening. "We need to keep them guessing. Keep hitting them. Never let up, not for one second."

"I'm in," Mierin shrugged, grinning a little. "What's the plan?"

Sidonis rounded the table, shaking his head and holding up his hands, "Right, we know you're in, Mierin." He was the team nut job, after all, a slightly unhinged demolitions expert. "I still say this is stupid. Twelve of us versus Blue Suns?"

"Twelve?" Monteague blinked, lowering his fork. He looked around the table, counting to himself, then threw the plastic utensil onto his plate, "God damn it."

"Not the Blue Suns. Tarak." Garrus leveled his gaze at Sidonis. "Cut off the head." He looked to the batarian brothers, "You two worked under Tarak, what do you think?"

Erash puffed his cheeks, grimacing in thought, looking over at the silent Vortash. As usual, he was holding his opinions until his brother voiced his. Vortash screwed his face up, before he finally nodded. "Something quick and under the radar. I like it."

"Me too," said Erash.

"An assassination," Sensat drawled. "Throw a nice big wrench in the works. Make life difficult for the Suns."

"We don't do assassinations," Krul grunted. "That is a coward's route."

"We kill the bad guys. Doesn't matter how we do it." Melanis craned his neck to look over at Krul.

"Yes," the krogan sneered, "that is how your kind operates, isn't it?"

Garrus massaged the bridge of his nose where the plates on his forehead met. "I get that some of you aren't on board with the idea. And I am open to other suggestions as to our next move." He lowered his hand and looked directly at Sidonis.

Sidonis was looking right back at him, eyes narrowed, mandibles twitching in frustration. Finally, he shook his head, arms crossed, "I don't like this, Garrus."

Mierin sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair, asking again in a sing song voice, "What's the plan?"

Garrus smirked a little at the salarian, nodding curtly as he slid a datapad into the center of the table, "We get him at home."

"Ouch," Ripper winced a little. "He won't like that."

"Got these schematics off his exterminator," Garrus continued. The datapad illuminated, a holographic display of Tarak's expansive home appearing over it. "When I say we take him out, I mean we destroy him. Cut off the power, disable all his vehicles, wipe out all his data, clean out his accounts, everything, take it all. If there is the slightest possibility that he gets out of that place alive, if we somehow lose him like we did Garm, I want him to be completely devastated."

Sidonis' frown deepened as his gaze flitted from the schematics to his commander.

"Vortash, Ripper, a huge part of this attack is tech, so I need you. I want you to get to work immediately on his files and his accounts. Have everything ready to wipe the night we strike. Which is going to be as soon as possible. Tonight, if we get everything in order."

"Jesus Christ, Archangel." Butler buried his face in his hands, staring at the schematics through his fingers.

"Mierin, what have we got demolitions-wise? How about a bomb?"

Mierin blinked, for the first time looking a little nervous about the operation. He cleared his throat, "Give me four hours to whip something up. Tonight? Really?"

"We need an attack that surrounds the place." Garrus continued as he drew a circle around the blueprint of Tarak's home with a finger. "Four teams of three, one from each direction."

"Fuck," Monteague muttered. The good doctor had managed to keep out of heavy battle.

"Krul and Ripper, you're our biotics, I want you on opposite sides. There isn't going to be a guard left alive. He hasn't got any kids or wife, so we don't need to worry about that. Sensat, I want you watching him all day today to see if he brings any girls or innocents home. If so, we abort." He leaned back, "Everyone got that? If you see anyone there that isn't Blue Suns you are to radio to everyone else and we abandon the mission." The heads around the table bobbed in understanding, a few of the men exchanging wary looks.

"Garrus," Sidonis spoke up again. "We're going to need more time than this to plan and prepare."

The turian shook his head, tapping the schematic again, zooming in on one of the rooms, "No, we don't, we can do this right now. North entrance. Front door. I want Krul, Erash and Weaver here first, you're Team A. Our heavy hitters. This is going to be the most heavily guarded, but it opens right into the foyer. Now that-"

"Garrus."

One of his mandibles jerked in annoyance as he looked back at Sidonis. "What?"

Sidonis' eyes narrowed, "A word." He motioned to the door with a hand.

Garrus straightened, scowling back at him, "Right now?"

"Yeah, right now."

Garrus huffed, "It can wait. The foyer," he tapped the datapad again, "opens up to the rest of the house, every room on the first floor can be accessed from here. This is the location we need to secure. Once Team A has gotten inside, Team B is to enter from the west side. The window here. Team B is Sensat, Butler, and Monteague. From here-…"

"Anyone here uncomfortable with the idea of attacking tonight?" Sidonis called out suddenly, turning to face the team. Butler's hand went up immediately, and, one by one, so did nearly every other hand in the room.

"If you would listen to the fucking plan for two seconds," Garrus growled.

"How much recon did you do?" Sensat arched a brow, looking over the schematic.

"We haven't hit Blue Suns hard in a month," Butler said again.

"More than a few hours of prep time would be preferable," Mierin drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

Garrus pushed away from the table angrily, "We are good enough to pull this off! We can do this; we can storm his place right now, just the twelve of us, and take him down with no trouble at all!"

"I'm glad you're so damn confident," Monteague crossed his arms. "You're going to get us killed."

Garrus leveled hard, dark look at Monteague, then another at Sidonis. Finally, he threw his hands in the air, pivoted on a heel, and stalked out of the room in a fury.

Sidonis lifted a hand to his face, letting out a heavy sigh. "Sensat, take Butler and run recon on Tarak, get his position, let us know what he's up to. Mierin, start that bomb. Vortash, see what you can hack into from here. We're going to need to pull this off at some point in time. Let's get to work people. Garrus!" The turian jogged out after him.

Sidonis found him outside, pacing angrily on one of the building balconies. The base had been an office building in its former life. Big rooms once held cubicles, planters still filled with synthetic ferns, and vinyl benches lined the walls. Garrus looked over at Sidonis as he approached, and he growled again, turning and walking away from him.

"The hell got into you in there?" Sidonis followed after him.

"We need to take Tarak down."

"What, today?"

"Yes, today!" Garrus spun back to him, slapping the balcony railing with a hand. "We aren't working fast enough. Nothing we're doing is making a damn bit of difference."

Sidonis frowned, shaking his head, "That's not true."

"We kill five mercs, five more jump in to take their place."

"We've only just started."

"We've been at this almost a year!" Garrus motioned with an agitated hand, pacing back down the balcony.

Sidonis scoffed, "For most of that time there were only five of us, Garrus. In less than a year, you've gotten eleven men behind you and every lowlife on Omega shaking in his boots."

Garrus paused, looking back at him, then shook his head, turning and leaning over the railing, looking down at the narrow bridge that led into the base. "Shepard did a lot more damage in a much shorter amount of time."

"You're not Shepard," Sidonis said with a sigh. "That scrawny human didn't stick around to clean up any messes left behind, just zoomed off to the next planet to take on the next group of assholes who needed to die. Us, we _are_ sticking around. We're fighting a war right here. Hell, we're starting a damn revolution."

The other turian was silent a moment, hanging his head and closing his eyes.

Sidonis let out a long exhale, "What brought this on?"

"Nothing."

Sidonis watched him a beat of silence, mandibles flicking. "You really need to get this done tonight?"

"Sooner the better."

"I don't want you signing our death warrants if this is just you feeling sorry for yourself again."

"That has nothing to do with this." Garrus straightened, crossing his arms.

"It's still not your fault Shepard is dead."

Garrus did not reply, looking arms still crossed, staring out over the grounds.

"Give everybody time to prepare." The other turian lowered his chin, leveling a look at him. "When we are ready, we strike without hesitation."

Garrus grimaced, and then finally nodded. "I'm just frustrated."

"I know," Sidonis nodded back. "I just sent Sensat and Butler out to find him and watch him. Give 'em a week to learn his habits, get a count on guards at home."

Garrus smirked a little, "You after my job?"

"Hell no!" Sidonis cried, laughing.

Garrus shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "We still need to jump on this as soon as possible."

"I understand. You've got a good team, they'll be ready soon."


	18. Chapter 18

Ch. 18

A grenade isn't that simple. Sure, it's simple in concept. A little bomb that can be triggered and flung at a target. But so much can go wrong. Mierin had the scars to prove it. A grenade can detonate on its own, without being triggered. Or the delay between trigger and detonation can be too short, causing an explosion before it even leaves your hand. Or it can not go off at all.

Mierin found duds especially frustrating. He wanted the boom, not to pour over every last detail in search of the problem. He lived for the boom.

He'd been forced to set up his lab on the far side of Archangel's base, just in case he had another accident. It still happened. Yes, he was the best demolitions expert on Omega, no question there. But the materials weren't always up to snuff. And he could sometimes be impatient. It was a typical salarian trait. Shorter lifespan and all. But yes, right. Accidents happen.

What happened with Eclipse started out as an accident. He was filling out an order for them, making grenades with the materials Eclipse provided. Nitroglycerin was the explosive compound. Chemicals are largely the same across the galaxy, even with the turian and quarian's chiral molecules. Every Council race had discovered nitro independently, along with a handful of non-council races. However, the chemical delay provided was a quarian brand. Not commonly used outside the Flotilla, but it was what he was given.

The trigger was a button that would send an electrical signal to the striker. This would hit the percussion cap which would then light the chemical delay. This delay would burn off slowly, before igniting the nitro. Boom.

It all worked in the lab. Without a hitch. But when the grenades were out in the field in a big brawl against the Blue Suns, they failed. Every last grenade was a dud. Eclipse was slaughtered, and Mierin was to blame.

He wasn't home when Eclipse set fire to his lab. This, of course, blew up a large section of the block, including a number of residences, killing all his brothers. Mierin was on the run.

Honestly, he only went to Archangel for protection, to hide from Eclipse, from Velig and Jaroth. But he found himself liking the guy. A lot. Growing up in Eclipse, he never met a man quite like him. Archangel wasn't out for himself, he wouldn't turn on you if the creds were right. Even his brothers would do that, more often than Mierin could count on his fingers. Archangel was like the heroes in action vids, the people that don't exist in real life. The white hats. The good guys.

Ten years old this year, and he'd never met a good guy before Archangel. Something was wrong with this galaxy, that was for sure.

Mierin shook his head a little to focus back on his work. Big siege coming up. Lots of work to do. He cranked up the music in his headphones and peeled open a plastic container of dioctyl sebacate. High grade stuff. Archangel knew better than to cut corners.

His slim hands paused at movement out of the corner of his eye. Big movement. Krul was hovering in the doorway, watching him. Mierin turned to look at him with a grin, slipping the headphones to his neck. "Hiya big guy. C'mon in."

Nobody liked Krul. Krogan are hard to like. Not even krogan like krogan. Krul scowled, glancing down the hall before slipping into the room with surprisingly light steps.

Mierin liked Krul. Mierin liked everybody. But Krul, he was always easy to read. Always spoke his mind. Qualities to be admired. He'd never be two faced, either.

Krul was once charged with protection of fertile females, working as a liaison between camps. He could move quickly, outmaneuver a male filled with bloodlust and hormones, strike precisely, and bring them down. He wasn't big enough to mate himself. Unworthy of the honor. That's mostly how he got the job. There were rumors that the job was given to eunuchs, an idea Krul never dignified with an answer.

There was a lot of misinformation when it came to the krogan and mating behaviors. After the genophage, they got a lot more secretive and protective about it. So the uneducated started filling in the gaps with idiotic rumors.

"Grenades?" Krul asked, looking over the workbench.

Mierin shook his head, "Plenty of those. Working on C-4 now." He tapped the side of the container filled with a clear oil to shake out the bubbles. "Did you want to help?"

"No." Krul stepped back and crossed his big arms. "This mission."

"Yeah?"

"I don't like it."

"You don't like anything."

"Not true."

Mierin nodded, "You like pyjak sausage. Not much else."

The krogan smirked briefly. "This mission," he said again. "It's suicide."

The salarian shrugged. "We can't hunt just Garm, buddy, you know that. He's not the only source of trouble on Omega."

Krul scowled again, hanging his head. Garm had killed a friend of his. A non-fertile female envoy named Hutog Mralk who'd rated him poorly, apparently a personality clash. "If we die on this idiotic mission, Garm will live." His fists shook, and Mierin put his hands up quickly to calm him. Not the right room to have a krogan on the rampage.

"So we don't die! Simple as that! C'mon, Krul." He rocked from foot to foot. "Tell you what. Day after we blow Tarak into tiny little pieces, you and me go out and find him. Then collapse whatever building he is in on top of him. Huge boom. Next best thing to a nuclear warhead. I've been working on a few ideas-"

Krul's yellow eyes narrowed. "I want to kill him face to face."

Mierin sighed a little. The salarian didn't do face to face. "Right. Okay, then… we coax him out, then I nuke the building with his backup in it, and you and him duke it out. Yeah?"

Krul smirked again, watching him. Finally, he nodded and turned again to leave. Mierin watched him disappear, then shook his head a little. He could be at least a little excited by the idea of killing Tarak. Mierin sure as hell was.

He'd get to have his booms. Lots of them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Short one, if you can forgive me. If you can forgive me for slowness, I suppose you can forgive brevity, right? Right. It's a warm up for big battles. As always, thanks for reading and commenting. Remember! Every time you comment, I write a little faster.**

* * *

Ch. 19

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

Butler shook his head a little and squeezed his rifle in his hands. "I'm scared shitless."

Sensat glanced over at the human whose expression was hidden behind the dark visor on his helmet. "You're never supposed to admit to that, you know. Part of doing insane stunts like this is deluding yourself."

Butler just shook his head, watching Tarak's home. Waiting for the word go. The house was more of an estate, built back in the old days when mining company executives were forced to stay on this rock for weeks at a time. The home easily had a dozen rooms, another dozen bathrooms, a big basement with a pool and a bar, and a wraparound balcony on the second floor. Sensat could see one of Tarak's men, a turian, strolling casually along the second story balcony, sucking on a cigarette with a sniper rifle dangling lazily from his fingertips. Archangel no doubt had him in his sights already.

Archangel ended up giving them six days to prepare for the attack. Today was the day. Sensat's team of three, himself, Butler, and Monteague, crouched in the darkness outside Tarak's garage. On the opposite side of the garage was Team C, comprised of Melanis, Ripper, and Mierin. They were going to disable everything they could in the garage, from pedal bikes to Tarak's pride and joy: a huge A-61 Mantis Gunship.

Sensat had been watching the compound almost non-stop for the past six days. He knew the name and face of every man and woman inside, what time the cleaning ladies came, what room Tarak slept in, his routines when he was home. He only took his eyes off the place to piss, eat one of the meals Melanis would bring him, or to change shifts with Butler. The drell got nights and the human got days.

The drell and the human both were low on sleep. Sensat had swapped with Butler again that evening, getting briefed on who was there, counting to make sure Butler was correct. He had to count twice before Butler left, then watched, ate a sandwich, took a leak, and imagined himself having a smoke. He'd lost track of two mercs once when his mind wandered. He recounted the heat signatures through his goggles, thought back on who was usually here at this hour, caught sight of a familiar face through the window and got a handle back on the situation when Archangel called for an update. After Sensat filled him in, it was decided that the assault would happen now.

Archangel's team had assembled in twenty minutes.

Sensat recounted the heat signatures in the Blue Suns base yet again, making sure there were no surprises. "Fourteen downstairs," he said again. "Twelve up."

"Against twelve of us," Monteague shook his head. "We're never this lucky."

Sensat shrugged, referring to his datapad. Archangel wanted to spare any innocents, and Sensat had managed to work out a name for every heat signature inside. Every one of them was a Blue Sun, every one of them was a killer, and every one of them would die.

Sensat suddenly found himself thinking about Dalia.

"I still say we blow it up," Mierin said over the radio. Sensat, Butler, and Monteague flinched. They were supposed to limit radio chatter. Besides, blowing a building up was no guarantee. Weaver had told an old story the first time Mierin suggested this, about a Hitler and a Valkyrie. Sensat hadn't really been listening, but Garrus agreed that a simple explosion wasn't good enough. They had to make sure Tarak was dead.

"Remember the abort signal," Monteague murmured, and the other two men nodded.

Finally, Archangel's voice came, low and robotic. "Techs, go."

Vortash and Ripper would be springing into action now. Sensat imagined Vortash's fingers flying over his omni-tool, cleaning out the Blue Suns bank accounts that they knew about. Ripper would be uploading a virus into their network. This would take five minutes. They practiced. They timed themselves.

Sensat tapped his own omni-tool, and felt Butler leaning into him as they both watched the countdown on the display.

Monteague whispered to himself in a language Sensat didn't understand. "_Padre nuestro,  
que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre._"

"You're freakin' me out, man, cut that out," Butler hissed.

"What's he saying?"

Butler shook his head while Monteague shot him a dark look. "He's praying."

"Really?"

"You can both go to hell." Monteague stared up at the base, then looked back at the countdown.

"Can you say it in bridge?" Sensat asked.

The doctor locked eyes with the drell for a moment, then said, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven." His face screwed up a moment, "_Danos hoy-..._ Give us-... give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

Butler sighed loudly.

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen."

"It's pretty, but," Sensat shook his head slowly, "I'm not sure I understand."

Monteague was silent, watching the numbers tick down. Finally he murmured, "It just means... help us and forgive us."

The numbers fell to zero. "Tech is done," came Vortash's voice over the radio.

"Now," said Archangel.

Sensat clapped his helmet closed and ran.


	20. Chapter 20

Ch. 20

Hit them hard, Archangel had said. If not dead, leave Tarak destroyed.

It was clear that the siege was completely unexpected. Team A moved first. Krul charged at the two guards outside the front door as only a krogan could, crushing one of them against the wall, shooting the second in the face. Weaver and Erash barreled past him through the front door and into the foyer, shooting holes in whoever was waiting there for them.

Elsewhere, gunshots rang out as Team D, the snipers Sidonis, Vortash, and Archangel, dispatched those Blue Suns patrolling outside or visible through windows.

In the same moment, explosions rocked the compound as Mierin ignited his C-4 inside the large garage.

The lights went out when the power was cut, but flickered back on a moment later thanks to internal generators. If that was the only thing to go wrong tonight, Archangel would be grateful.

Tarak would be panicking. He'd be shitting himself. He might run, but he'd have nowhere to go. He might fight, but Archangel was kind of hoping for that. He might hide, too. Archangel had all night.

Archangel grinned and tucked his rifle under his arm, running towards the estate. He glanced over his shoulder, watching Sidonis and Vortash both fall into step behind him.

Gunfire, screams, booms. It was electrifying.

Archangel's team was to attack from the east, through the dining room window. It should be empty by now, everyone should be responding to the frontal assault. Archangel threw a flashbang, letting it crash through the glass and explode with a blinding light show. He went in next, his two men at his heels as he leapt through the broken window.

A Blue Sun was on the floor, shrieking and covering her eyes. Archangel swapped the rifle for a pistol and fired one round into her head. He kept moving.

There was a shout over the radio. First injury. Melanis. Ripper was calling it in, but Archangel could hear the kid insist he was fine. Archangel kept moving, "Stay on it!"

The dining room opened up to the foyer where the firefight was still underway. His men had retreated to the front door for some cover, while the Blue Suns were huddled around the staircase. The merc's backs were to him. Archangel heard Sidonis fire and watched three of the Suns fall before they realized the attack was coming from more than one direction.

Another explosion. Archangel could feel the ground shake as he emptied the last of his rounds into the Suns before stepping back for cover. He ejected the overloaded clip, resting his head back against the wall as he let out a slow exhale.

Shepard would have loved this.

The dining room table suddenly lit up with blue biotic energy and flew across the room towards them. Archangel ducked out of the way, but Sidonis and Vortash were pinned against the wall. Archangel danced backwards, watching two Suns, a pair of humans, dive into the room, firing wildly from behind biotic barriers.

Archangel gritted his teeth and emptied his pistol into them as well, watching the biotic barriers flash and dim with each bullet. One of the humans spun to return fire, shouting "It's Archangel!" with a mix of disbelief and dread. The bullets pinged off Archangel's kinetic shields, then armor when his shields fell. Growling, he lifted the pistol stopped his retreat. He stood his ground, aimed the gun, flicking the sensor to load a concussive shot. The Sun froze in her tracks as Archangel stared her down, confused and terrified. In the next moment she was flat on her back thanks to a shot right between the eyes.

The table fell, freeing Sidonis and Vortash. The pair of them quickly recovered, killing the other biotic Sun in a flood of hot gunfire.

Sidonis was hurt. He could tell by the way he stood, too stiffly, like he was trying to hide it. But he could stand, and his trigger fingers worked just fine. He tilted his head at the other turian questioningly, and Sidonis just nodded back.

More gunfire from the foyer. The other teams were catching up. Archangel stepped back through the doorway in time to see Butler shoot and kill a batarian Sun who was putting his hands up in surrender.

And then silence, brief but glorious.

Archangel spun once and counted heads. Eleven men in armor, some dinged up. Melanis looked the worst of them. The plastic armor over his shoulder was smoking and mostly gone, and some of his plastron was exposed, bloody and blackened. But he was standing and alive, like everyone else. The initial assault was a success.

Archangel nodded his helmeted head once, motioning at the stairs. The team was to split up again. He turned to take the stairs two at a time with five more men, ducking to one side as gunfire started up again. A bullet caught him in the chest through the kinetic shield and made him stumble backwards. "Dammit!"

Krul was right behind him and returned fire without even blinking. Two more Suns fell while another turned and ran.

Archangel ran his gloved hand along his chest, checking for damage. He felt a notch in the armor and nothing else. No blood. "Keep going."

The second floor was a narrow hallway that forked in two directions, and stepping into the hall meant stepping into the line of fire. Suns were up and down the hall, hidden in doorways with more cover than his team had. Archangel took another hit to his armor and backed away onto the stairs again with a grunt.

Mierin was at his elbow, fiddling with a grenade and grinning broadly. "One sec." He spun and flung a grenade down one end of the hall, cackling at the explosion. He repeated the action down the other hall, and then started to withdraw down the stairs again. He had more damage to cause elsewhere.

Sidonis spun to lead the charge down one hall, Archangel down the other, the men splitting up yet again, three and three. Tarak had to be up here somewhere. The rest of his men were searching downstairs and in the basement. Clearing everything out, destroying everything but information.

He glanced at his omni-tool. Fifteen minutes had passed since they stormed in.

Archangel heard another shout over the radio. Another injury. Monteague. Archangel gritted his teeth and pressed himself against a wall. He spun, kicking a door open, scanning the dark bedroom. He motioned Butler inside to make sure no one was hiding. The human made a quick sweep of the empty room, and then rejoined him in the hall. "Clear."

Onto the next room.

From the opposite end of the hall, he heard gunfire. He kicked open another door and waited a beat for an attack. Once more, Butler slipped into the dark, searching the room. He found a merc in the corner and killed him with a few well placed shots.

This was going too well.

He kicked in the next door and screams poured out. Archangel froze outside the doorway.

_No_.

He slowly leaned to one side to look in, holding out a hand to signal Krul and Butler to hold.

Women. Two of them. Humans, crouched in an office, their backs pressed up against a closet door. Closer to girls than women, really. They were wearing filmy clothing, not armor. They had no weapons, and they had no Blue Suns tattoos on their skin. They instead had a batarian symbol tattooed on their necks: an X in the center of a circle of linked loops, with four black dots around it.

Slaves. They were marked like batarian slaves.

Tarak had slaves that escaped his team's attention. No one saw them come or go, of course. They were always here, never left, probably always close together. Clinging to one another for safety and comfort in this place. They were probably used in various ways by Tarak's men. That would lead to confusion with the heat signature counts, wouldn't it? Two people close together became one single yellow smear.  
Damn it. No, that was no excuse. They'd been so damn careful, how did his team miss these two girls?

The idea that Tarak had slaves never once crossed Archangel's mind. There weren't supposed to be slaves on Omega. That was one thing Aria didn't allow. The two women hugged each other, staring up at him with white rimmed human eyes.

Damn it. Damn it!

"Charon," Archangel barked into the radio.

"What?" Sidonis called back.

The abort command. "Charon," Garrus repeated. "Charon, Charon." He looked back at the girls, then stepped back out of the doorway, "We're going to get you out of here." There might be more. Tarak would not hesitate to use them as shields.

"You can't be serious, I just finished down here!" This was Mierin. He was setting up bombs on all the support beams.

"Charon."

He heard Mierin curse in his native, squeaking tongue.

"Butler, help these women out of here." Garrus stepped back, motioning his human squad mate towards them. Tarak was here. Somewhere. He was hiding. The idea of leaving now made him sick. If he could just find him and get in one good shot…

He lifted his helmeted head, watching his various men begin to retreat, ignoring the mix of confused and dark looks. Butler emerged, leading the women by the hands, Krul right behind him.

One of the girls stopped, staring up at Archangel, dragging her feet as Butler pulled. She squirmed her way out of his grip while he insisted he was trying to help her. Archangel tilted his head curiously at her. She stood before him, and pointed wordlessly back into the room. At the closet. She took the other girl's hand again, and disappeared down the stairs with Butler.

Archangel snapped his gaze back to the closet. _Tarak_.

He found himself in front of the closet in the empty room an instant later, hand on the panel to open it. His team was retreating. There were still bursts of gunfire throughout the estate. More Blue Suns would be coming from every corner of Omega. But he couldn't let this go. All he needed was one more shot. He tapped the panel and the door opened.

There was another door inside the closet. Heavier, with the best lock money could buy. Son of a bitch had a panic room.

Archangel gritted his teeth and pounded the door with his fist. He thought back on the schematics. Of course, this wouldn't be on it. He was pretty sure the blueprints had a sauna on this spot.

"Archangel!" Sidonis was in the doorway. "We have to go!"

"He's in here!" Archangel leveled his assault rifle at the illuminated lock display. "Get Vortash and Mierin back in here, we need to get this door open!" If they had succeeded in cutting the power, if he didn't have generators on site, they could get in easily. But the door was sealed tight.

The other turian scanned the door, grimacing. "That could take hours. You know that. You gave the order, we have to go." More Blue Suns would already be on the way. They could already be rushing in through the front door.

Archangel growled, stepping back, "So we level this place."

Sidonis' eyes narrowed. "You don't know who else is in there. You want to do that?"

Archangel paused. The girls that escaped their attention. Tarak would have to hide his slaves, even on Omega. He'd hide them in a secret room with walls too thick to see through with heat scans. He envisioned Tarak running here when the chaos began, throwing out two terrified girls in his path and shutting the door behind him. Sidonis was right. There could be more inside. Hell, he wouldn't put it past Tarak that he was in the slave trade.

His eyes scanned the door again, and he spotted the reflective lens of a camera in the frame. He leaned in close, "This isn't over, Tarak. I hope you're comfy in there. The moment you step out of that room, you are a dead man. I'll see to that myself."

"Archangel!" Sidonis said again.

Archangel flexed his jaw and mandibles in irritation, before he turned on a heel and retreated. He felt like he was connected to that door by an elastic rope; every step away was harder and harder.

He and Sidonis killed another four Blue Suns on the way out, through the back door and into the dark streets of Omega.


	21. Chapter 21

**I wanted to say thanks again for all the kind words and alerts. I put this story on the back burner for so long, it's nice to see you still like it. I've been writing like mad and will probably finish writing it all today or tomorrow and upload the last, oooh, six or seven chapters over the next few days. Another short one, this time a look at Butler. The end is coming and it's been rough to write, but also good to get it all down at last. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Ch. 21**

Melanis was more hurt than he let on. Butler could see that. He'd been caught in one of the bomb explosions, and pieces of the turian's plating were just gone from his shoulder and back, exposing tender, pink skin once the burns and soot were cleaned away.

Monteague was in bad shape, too, his left leg had been shattered from a gunshot, chunks of his armor caught in the flesh. The doctor had slapped some medi-gel on it and took a handful of stims so that he could tend to the injured back at the base with Butler's assistance. Monty gave Melanis a handful of painkillers after cleaning and bandaging the wound. Now the kid was lying on his stomach with his arms folded under his chin and a miserable expression on his bony face.

It was the first time Butler had ever seen a turian out of its armor, and Melanis looked strangely human, like a scrawny teenager in a Halloween mask.

Butler stepped outside the infirmary and into the hall, fingers running over his omni-tool. He needed to call home.

His wife answered almost immediately with a hint of panic in her voice, "Neil?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah."

"Everyone else?"

"Everyone is alive." He listened to her exhale, and then heard Kiran call out to her in the background. Butler closed his eyes. "He should be in bed."

"When I can't sleep, he can't sleep. Are you coming home tonight?"

"I don't know, Nalah. Garrus isn't back yet."

"He's not hurt, is he?"

"I don't know. He's not back yet." Butler glanced back into the room and saw Melanis watching him, then look away quickly when he was spotted. "I'll call you when I find out, okay?"

Nalah sighed. "Okay. I love you, Neil."

"Love you too, sweetheart. See you later." He slid his fingers along the omni-tool to end the call, and stepped back into the infirmary towards Melanis.

Garrus usually gave Butler a heads up before missions like the one they just walked away from. Enough time to go home and hug his kids and wife if nothing else. Enough time to say good-bye in case this was the time he wasn't coming home.

Other, quieter nights Garrus would visit their little apartment at Nalah's insistence. She'd make him a home-cooked meal, the closest thing to Punjabi chole she could craft with turian ingredients. He'd always pour on the compliments when it came to her cooking, and was always patient if a bit awkward with his kids.

"That was your wife?" Melanis asked.

Butler nodded, pulling a chair up to his bedside. "Yep. Painkillers kicking in?"

"Nalah, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've got kids."

Butler was silent a moment, fixing his dark gaze on the young turian. Finally, he nodded. "Ava and Kiran. Three and eighteen months."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Melanis arched his brows, "but I always thought it was stupid for people to have kids on Omega."

Butler tilted his head, "What about your parents?"

Melanis shrugged, and then winced at the pain the action brought. "Look how they ended up," he muttered.

Butler exhaled slowly, hanging his head, hands clasped between his knees. "I didn't know your mom or dad." He lifted his head, looking back at him. "But I'm sure they were doing the best they could for you."

The turian looked back at him with a scowl. "They were Blue Suns."

"I was a merc, too." Butler shrugged. "Freelance. Until Ava was born. My dad-…" He trailed off, frowning down at his hands. "I had a shitty father, Mel. And I didn't want to be him. When Nalah told me she was pregnant, I realized for the first time that I didn't want to be him. You hear people say it all the time, y'know, having a kid changes you. But it's true. You hold your little girl in your arms for the first time, and nothing is the same. There's a little person who is so… completely vulnerable, who depends on you for _everything_. And in that moment, to keep her safe, you are willing to sacrifice everything that used to mean something to you."

Melanis fell silent and rolled onto his uninjured side, eyes on the human. "I don't know if I buy that."

"That's how it was for me."

Melanis' mandibles tucked close to the sides of his face. "They didn't get out when I was born."

Butler had to think for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "If they tried to get out and gotten killed for it when you were a baby instead of a young man, you'da been much worse off."

"Maybe." Melanis lifted his arm and looked at his bandages.

"I'm going to tell you something that took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out." Butler leaned forward, meeting Melanis' gaze. "You don't have to be your father. You can be the man you wish he was." He lifted a shoulder and glanced as his omni-tool, spotting two dots on the display that represented Sidonis and Garrus approaching the base. "You might have figured that out already, though. You'll really get it when you have kids."

The turian snorted, "Yeah right. I'm never having kids."

Butler chuckled as he got to his feet, "Uh huh. That's what I said. Get some rest, huh?"


	22. Chapter 22

**Inching closer to the inevitable. Thanks for reading and thanks very much for commenting. I like those. Especially the ones that point out glaring plot holes. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Ch. 22**

"You took forever because you stopped to get beer?"

Garrus and Sidonis sat on the edge of the bridge into the base, looking wordlessly into the old mining crevasse below with bottles in hand and feet dangling over the edge. They looked up when Butler spoke, and Sidonis grabbed a bottle of human draft, a local concoction brewed on Omega, and held it out to him. "It was on the way."

Butler shook his head and took the bottle, sitting beside the turians. "Fucking asshole. Can't believe he got away."

Garrus scowled and twitched his mandibles.

Sidonis shook his head and picked up a datapad they'd lifted from Tarak's home, "He's slave running. He won't last much longer when Aria finds out."

"We're depending on her now?" Garrus turned to look at him.

It was true that slavers stopped on Omega all the time. It was a hub for shady dealings, after all. The slavers on Omega would trade, buy and sell, exchange merchandise. But it was Aria's Law that no slave was to ever set foot on Omega. Her reasons for this were unknown, and a point of contention for any batarian owned organization visiting the asteroid.

Archangel and his crew had disrupted many slaver dealings over the past year. They usually hired someone trying to get off Omega to drive the ship full of people out of the Terminus Systems and to safety.

Weaver was a few steps behind Butler, helping himself to a bottle. "Melanis and Monty are the worst of the in-njured," he murmured, twisting off the cap. "Sensat and Erash took a few b-bullets. So did Krul, b-but you can't really tell with him." He leaned against a support beam, tossing the bottle cap into the pit.

"Took the girls to a friend, he's gonna help get them into Alliance space. The body count ended up being twenty-four," Butler said, but Garrus shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Sidonis sighed, leaning back on his elbows, taking a sip from his bottle. He glanced over at Garrus and the two humans, then chuckled softly.

"What?" Butler asked.

"The originals," Sidonis motioned at them with his beer. "How the hell did we get to twelve so fast?"

Weaver lowered his chin and lifted his bottle in salute. "To Rinata."

There were five of them when Garrus first got the name Archangel. The two turians, the two humans, and an asari named Rinata. She was a former C-Sec officer who got into drugs and the wrong crowd. Her fall from grace eventually landed her on Omega, where Garrus helped her up. "To Rinata," he echoed.

The first was Sidonis. Garrus met him in a barfight. They weren't fighting each other, not then. A drunken Sidonis picked a fight with a pair of batarians, and Garrus helped even the odds a little. After the bruised and beaten batarians ran off, Garrus bought Sidonis shitty ganiae and asked him his story. Sidonis was almost drunk enough to tell it all. But he didn't, not all of it. Not that night.

Lantar Sidonis was a former military man who was recently fired from a private security firm for brutality. He was on board with Garrus' plan of taking Omega back. Back then he was mostly itching for a fight. The past year and Garrus' influence had helped calm him.

Butler and Weaver were already buddies. The human sector where they lived quickly became Blue Suns territory, and they weren't giving it up without a fight. It wasn't long before the two humans and the two turians found one another and teamed up.

They came across Rinata accidentally. The four of them were doing what had become routine; quietly roaming the streets, each of them looking for a group of mercs that they could take on. The ex-C-Sec was walking home alone, slightly high, when she was picked to be the victim for four freelance punks. She didn't go down as easily as they'd hoped. By the time Garrus radioed for his men to join him at her location, she already had the four mercs laid out on the street.

She'd sarcastically called him a guardian angel.

Rinata had a lazy, gravelly laugh and a twisted sense of humor. Garrus never had a thing for asari, but he could have had a thing for her. Shame she never got the chance to get her head on straight. She struggled. All of them did, to be honest. She with her addictions, Garrus with his guilt and feelings of helplessness, Weaver with his impending death, Butler with fatherhood, and Sidonis with his losses.

She was killed by a sniper during a routine drug raid five months later. He was Archangel by then, getting lots of attention and even more enemies. After Rinata's death, Garrus knew it was time to expand. It was what Shepard would have done. When Garrus voiced his concerns about recruiting the daughter of Benezia, Shepard said, "After we lost Jenkins, I picked up Ash. Then you, Wrex, Tali. The fight keeps getting bigger, so we have to keep getting bigger and stronger. And yes, I trust her."

People knew that Sidonis worked with Archangel, and had been asking him to sign up. They wanted to help. They wanted to fight. Next came Krul, Ripper, Mierin, the batarian brothers, Sensat, and finally Melanis and Monteague. All races and all walks of life with one common goal.

Of course, tonight's goal had been fucked up the cloaca.

Garrus sighed, drained his beer, and pitched the empty into the abyss. "Son of a bitch." So much for not talking about it.

Weaver shrugged, turning the beer bottle on his palm, curling and uncurling his fingers. "I thought we did all right. Wasn't a total failure. We d-didn't kill him, b-but we destroyed him. Like y-you said. He'll b-be slow to recover. He's gotta come up with credits, set up all his ac-counts again, g-get rid of that virus, fix his g-gunship..."

"Clean the shit out of his pants," Garrus smirked a little.

"That t-too."

Butler arched a brow, "So now what?"

"I don't know." Garrus dropped onto his back, rubbing his face with both hands. "We got him scared, I'm sure. He might go into hiding, but he's probably going to strike back."

"We should change bases," Sidonis suggested. "You and Sensat could start following him, wait for a clear shot. We could take some of his datapads to Aria. There's lots we could do."

"We're not going to Aria."

"I'm just saying, we can use her-"

"She isn't our ally, Sidonis. Drop it."

"She could be."

"Drop it, I said."

Sidonis growled, and flung his own bottle into the pit, hopping to his feet. "I'm going to bed."

"Go see Monteague!" Garrus called after his retreating form, and Sidonis responded with the bird.

Weaver watched Sidonis disappear back into the base and shook his head a little. "He really hates when you d-don't listen to him, doesn't he?"

"When he stops having dumbass ideas, I'll start listening."

"I don't di-disagree with you," Weaver rubbed at his scarred ear with his thumb. "Dealing with her is d-dealing with the devil."

"Wife wants me home," Butler said, rolling to his feet. "You need anything else?"

Garrus shook his head, plucking up another bottle, "Go on home. You did good. Everyone's going to rest tonight. I'll make sure Vortash wires you some of the haul."

"You get some rest, too, Batman." Butler punched his shoulder lightly with a grin, gave Weaver a salute, then turned and walked away from the base.

"How 'bout you, old man?"

Weaver arched his brows and looked back down at his hands, shaking his head. "It's catching up," he murmured in a low voice, opening and closing his hands again.

"You're not going to tell me when you need to bow out, are you?" Garrus crossed his arms over his knees, looking up at the human.

Weaver paused. "You've seen dogs, right? The p-pets?" Garrus nodded, and Weaver went on, "When they get sick, they d-don't show it. I had this d-dog, she got old, she g-got sick, b-but we never knew it. My s-sister and me. The d-dog, Sheba, she still tried to be a good girl. Tried to play fetch, ran with us, pl-played with us. P-put on the show. Never showed weakness. One day, she cr-crawled under the porch and died, all alone. D-didn't want anybody around."

"Please don't tell me you're going to do that."

"I'd like t-to go out in a blaze of glory," Weaver tilted his head with a sad smile. "Don't think I'm going to get t-too many more chances for that."

Garrus watched him a long moment, thinking about the fact that he should call home. Check in on Mom. He shook his head, "Next week, you and me are going to go down and visit that new doctor. See if he can do anything for you."

Weaver shook his head, lifting the beer bottle to his lips, "Nah. P-people have been saying there's a p-plague down there."

"You can't be serious."

"It's what I heard. They're t-talking quarantine, c-cutting the whole section off."

"I bet you Aria's trying to hide something, that's all. I'll call. Make an appointment."

Weaver hung his head and let out a resigned sigh, "If it'll make you feel b-better." He tipped his head back, draining the last of the beer, and then pitched the bottle into the pit, listening for the satisfying shatter of glass. "Gonna hit the hay."

"'Night, Weaver." Garrus watched the old man make his way back into the base and disappear, leaving him alone on the bridge.

Two days later, Garrus got a call from Sidonis.


	23. Chapter 23

**Ch. 23**

Sidonis hit the ground hard, and for a moment all he could see was popping white bubbles against a flat grey background. His eyes blinked furiously, forehead plate resting against the cold, filthy ground. It wasn't caked with dirt. It was covered in old dry blood, every color of the rainbow from every race in the galaxy. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, and flakes of blood got caught in his nostrils, forcing him to sneeze.

"Keep your eyes in," Tarak said politely. Seemed every race had a phrase to say to a sneezing person. Keep your eyes in, God bless you, Goddess catch you, better health, one to praise. Another strange little common link across the galaxy.

Not unlike weapons. Every civilized race had weapons. Sort of like the shotgun Sidonis could feel pressed against the back of his head. He coughed then sucked in another breath. "Thank you," he answered automatically.

"You're welcome." Tarak began to circle Sidonis as he remained on his hands and knees. "Cuff him. Hands and feet."

Sidonis was suddenly crushed under the weight of two men, and let out a cry of pain. How many were here? His arms were twisted back at uncomfortable angles, his legs pulled out from under him. His chin cracked against the ground, teeth sinking into his tongue and filling his mouth with blood.

"Gently, boys. Just a precautionary measure, you understand." He smiled. "Now, if you play your cards right, that sneeze is going to be the worst thing to happen to you today. And you could walk out of here a very wealthy man." Tarak crouched into Sidonis' eyeline. "You know what we want, don't you?"

Sidonis' nose wrinkled as he felt the cuffs close tightly on his wrists and ankles. He coughed again, spitting blood at Tarak's feet. "You want Archangel," he said, and was surprised to hear his own voice trembling. His body was starting to react to fear before his brain could even fully process it.

Tarak leapt back at the spit blood as if it were acid. Jumpy son of a bitch. The batarian growled and threw a kick into Sidonis' face. His head snapped back, and he felt his two front teeth loosen. He groaned and rolled onto his back. Garrus would have quipped something clever here. _Wrong answer? _That's what he would have said.

Sidonis was not Garrus. He felt his whole body shaking as he looked up at his captors. Batarians. They were all batarians. Six in all. Sidonis shut his eyes tightly. He wasn't here. This was a dream. He was safe at home. In bed with his wife and his kids sleeping peacefully in the next room.

"Where is his base? Start talking." There was a blow to his ribs this time, from the butt of a shotgun.

He was going to die. He was going to die on this god damned floor on this fucking rock.

There was a sudden explosion next to his ear, chunks of the floor hitting his cheek, ears throbbing painfully. Tarak sounded a lot farther away. They shot the ground right next to his head. Sidonis cried out in pain, rolling onto his side.

He was going to die. He was going to die on this god damned ship. Everyone was dead. Jortia. And they took his kids.

"Sidonis, you need to fucking focus. I asked you a damn question, you don't get to drift off and think about it."

He blinked his eyes open, the vision in one obscured by a dark blue smear. Blood. Shotgun must have cut up his face. He was numb. "Don't kill me…"

They took his kids.

Tarak scowled, stepping back, crossing his arms. "I don't want to kill you. Not if I don't have to. But you have to tell me what I want to hear."

Fucking slavers disappeared into the Veil with his kids.

"Don't kill me," he said again.

The batarian leader looked back at his gang, and then leaned over the turian. "Deal. Where is the base?"

His kids were dead, who the hell was he kidding. He'd talked about it with Garrus once. Only once. Three turian kids as slaves would be a trophy. A status symbol. But three turians getting close to puberty, well. That's just stupid to hang onto. Those you take out back and dispose of.

He should just die. He should lay here and die. Fucking worthless.

"You seem to think I have patience."

Sidonis felt another blow, this time to the back of his neck with the butt of a gun. Once again his vision swam as he rolled over onto his face.

Four weeks he was on that ship all by himself. They took all the children. They killed everyone else. Sidonis didn't know how he survived. He was shot repeatedly, just like everyone else. He awoke under a pile of bodies. They overlooked him. He lived. He was lucky.

And the disabled ship drifted for four weeks. Full of corpses. Batarian slavers had taken all the children and left everyone else to rot. _The smell…_

"The Council thought it was a good idea. For interspecies relations," Jortia told him. Ever the diplomat. Standing silhouetted and beautiful against the window. "Share the planet with the humans, help build the Colony. There's even a new ship being built for the Alliance navy. Turian design." She smiled at him and touched his arm, "The yard is huge. Wait until you see it."

"I don't want to die…" _The smell._

"Yeah," Tarak said, "You mentioned that. You need to start saying something else."

They might not be dead. They might be out there somewhere. Waiting for their father to come and save them.

"Give me a map…" he wheezed.

_Stop kidding yourself._

Tarak grinned, straightening and motioning for one of his men to give him a datapad. It clattered on the floor beside Sidonis. He felt hands grab him and sit him upright. Tarak crouched beside him, picking up the datapad. "Where?"

_What, you want me to point it out with my dick? Uncuff me. _Garrus would have said that. He was not Garrus. Sidonis opened and closed the hands cuffed behind his back, "I can't… my hands…"

"Then use your words. Where?"

She was beside herself with excitement. "The yard is huge. Wait until you see it." No one could get big yards on Pavalen. Kania was annoyed having left all her friends behind and spent much of the trip brooding, but the boys were easily swayed with promises of a tackleball field a block away from the new house. They were more enthusiastic, noses pressed up against the glass, watching Pavalen slowly disappear from view.

"Epsilon sector," Sidonis croaked.

Tarak nodded, tapping the screen, zooming in on the edge of Omega. "What level?"

Jortia was dead. He'd found her dead when he woke up. It wasn't the peaceful kind of death you see in the vids. She didn't look like she'd suddenly fallen asleep at some odd, uncomfortable angle, eyes closed. She died fighting and screaming at the slavers. The batarian blood pool next to her showed she'd hurt him bad before she was shot in the side of the face. Half of it was just gone, but her remaining eye was open and still looked full of fury.

So many bodies. Over the next few days he had to move them. One at a time. To the airlock. The smell was getting to be too much. His left arm was shattered from the slavers blasts and he had to move them all by himself. The corpses. He'd hook his good arm around their torsos and drag them, staggering under the weight. One at a time. Thirty six times. He'd drop them unceremoniously in the small airlock chamber, then retreat back into the ship, peer out the window, and press the control to open the outside doors with the flat of his palm. Thirty six men and women soon comprised a long morbid tail behind the dead, drifting ship.

"Five," Sidonis said robotically.

"Where on five?"

Jortia was released into space last. He sat with her for hours in the airlock and cursed the inability to open the door out into the void from there.

He was rescued by the turian military. Months later it became apparent that it was never really a slaver attack. It was an assassination. The target was Jortia's employer, a turian ambassador who pissed the wrong people off. Everyone else was collateral. The kids were taken to make it look like a slaver raid and cover their tracks.

"You don't want to hear it, Sidonis, but they're dead," Garrus had told him in a soft, sympathetic voice. "They wouldn't hang onto them. Not if it was just a hit job."

Sidonis heard a crack and felt blinding pain again. Someone hit him again, this time at the small of the back. "You're drifting again," Tarak said in a strange, sing song way. "Keep talking. You'll walk out of here with a pocket full of chits and a ticket off Omega. Where on five?"

The turian cried out in pain, lying on the floor. They were dead. He couldn't take the pain anymore. It hurt to breathe, but he sucked in a weak breath and muttered, "The old Morrison Company building."

That was it. Archangel was dead. Everyone was dead. And Sidonis felt dead all over.


	24. Chapter 24

**Ch. 24**

Tarak stepped back and looked down at the datapad, tapping a few keys. That was one hell of a strategic location. He scowled, glancing back down at the bloody turian. "If you're lying, you're dead." He motioned to his men with a hand, and they hauled the turian to his feet and dragged him to a chair.

Tarak stepped out of the bare little room, looking up at an anxious salarian. "You heard that?"

Jaroth nodded, fingers flying furiously over his omni-tool. "I don't know if we can just run in there and kill him. And everyone else. Our last count he had twelve men, who knows how many are in there now?" His lips twisted up in a grimace.

"You're saying we shouldn't just storm the castle."

"I'm saying it'll be hard. I wouldn't do it."

Tarak growled, looking over his shoulder quickly. There was a very good possibility that this was all just a trap. Archangel's number two had been a little too easy to pick up. One of his men spotted him alone, talking to one of the bouncers outside Afterlife. They snagged him as soon as he was out of sight of any witnesses and brought him back here.

They could have been followed. Archangel could be waiting right outside with a gun at eye level.

Tarak shivered. He didn't want to do it, either. "So what do we do?"

Jaroth rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully, looking past the batarian to the little room where Sidonis sat. "We lure Archangel away. Kill all his men. Kill him alone. You're honestly going to let that cloaca go?"

"He gave me what I wanted. Rest of his life he's going to be looking over his shoulder. We'll never see him again." The batarian grinned slowly as an idea came to him. He lifted a finger, "We lure Archangel away, kill all his men, then let him go home and find them."

Jaroth's eyes narrowed, "You sure that's wise? His base is incredibly well fortified. This bridge-"

Tarak's grin disappeared. "You came to me, Chuckles. Working together was your idea."

"It was Velig's idea," Jaroth corrected in clipped tones.

"Whatever. Is Garm in on this?"

"He is, but-"

"We get this asshole here to call him," Tarak motioned over his shoulder with a hand. "Tell him some bullshit to get him out of the base. Your men, my men, Garm's men all run in there and kill everyone. Every last one of those mother-fuckers."

Jaroth nodded slowly, "And Archangel?"

"He's going to be alone." Tarak was grinning again, showing all his sharp and crooked teeth. "He's going to be surrounded by the corpses of his dead men. He's going to be betrayed by his turian boyfriend. He's not going to want to put up a fight."

The salarian narrowed his eyes. "I'm not convinced."

"That's the plan. Take it or leave it." Tarak's hand rested on his sidearm. Working with Eclipse and Blood Pack was a dangerous idea. Jaroth came to him a week ago, after Velig died, and Tarak had dismissed him.

Then Archangel attacked him. _In his home._ Since then, he couldn't sleep. He was flinching at shadows. His men were losing respect, whispering in corners, watching him.

He imagined Archangel waiting outside and shivered again.

The salarian eyeballed him warily. He shrugged, "Fine. I'll assemble my men. Have the turian call him."


	25. Chapter 25

Ch. 25

"Where's Sidonis?"

Melanis shrugged from his spot on the sofa, never taking his gaze off the video screen. "I'm not his keeper," he muttered, waving his hand in the air. On the screen, his avatar sliced the head off a demon.

Garrus grimaced, crossing his arms, scanning the room. "We're meeting in an hour, you know that. New mission briefing."

"Yeah." He glanced over his shoulder with a quick grin, "I'll save my game, I'll be there."

"You're up for it?" Garrus asked, watching the kid move with a critical eye. Watching for muscles still tight and sore from injury. There were still bandages under his clothes, bare spots where his plating was growing back.

"I'm fine." Melanis made another motion with his hand and paused the game. He turned to Garrus. "Just say the word and I'm back to work. My old armor is shot to shit, but I got your old gear to wear. Which I appreciate."

Garrus smirked, "Not too big on you? Perhaps in the crotchetal region?"

Melanis laughed and rolled his eyes, "Your mom didn't think so. I'll be there."

The elder turian nodded once, slipping out of the room to hunt through the hallways. Sidonis should be here somewhere. Still glowering, perhaps, but always ready to work. He still wouldn't let up on the idea of going to Aria.

"I'm not saying she should be an ally," he'd told Garrus in the supply room the previous day.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm saying we can use her."

"And that's better how?"

Sidonis glared at him and slammed the weapons locker shut. "We have a common enemy. And she has more resources than we do. Why is it so terrible to use her against Tarak?"

"Because then we _owe_ her, Sidonis," Garrus lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes. "If she does our job for us, then we are in her debt. We aren't going to put ourselves in that position."

"So we tip her off anonymously."

"Have you forgotten who we're talking about here?"

Sidonis gave him a dark look and sulked off, avoiding him for the rest of the day. That morning he'd taken off without a word and apparently still hadn't returned.

Garrus had since gotten word from Illium that Jaroth had been rush ordering mechs. They were probably already here. The LOKI's had to be taken out before they could be activated.

In the kitchen he found Erash, Vortash, and Ripper, bent over a datapad. "Any of you seen Sidonis?"

"He went to get pizzas, didn't he?" Vortash glanced up.

"Did he?" Garrus asked.

"You need to see what Ripper edited together. Our greatest hits," Erash looked up at him with a grin and motioned at the datapad.

Garrus' shoulders sagged. Sidonis wasn't here. "Maybe another time," he ran his fingers over his omni-tool display. "Meeting in an hour."

"We know." Vortash pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, watching the video.

Garrus paused, then leaned over the batarian's shoulder. He spotted Melanis' skinny form sprinting through a mech assault. Next was a brief image of all of them, all of his men, passing Ripper's camera to one another around the dinner table and mugging. Suddenly, the image blinked and went blank.

"Dead," Ripper said with a frown. "Batteries on these things are shit." The human looked up at Garrus. "Something wrong with Sidonis?"

"No. Not yet. Lemme know if he gets back, okay?" Garrus slipped back into the hallway while Ripper turned the dead datapad in his hands thoughtfully.

The turian made his way into a room that they had filled with unwanted cubical dividers and office furniture. He was about to call Sidonis when the omni-tool blinked and buzzed, illuminating Sidonis' name on the display. Garrus tapped the key to take the call. "Where are you? We have a meeting in an hour, I wanna hash this over with you. Vortash says we should just steal the mechs, but-"

"Archangel."

His tone sent chills down Garrus' spine. Weary, breathless. Beaten down. Frightened. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I need-…" He could hear Sidonis swallow and take in a breath. His voice was shaking. "I thought I saw them."

"Who?"

"My kids."

Garrus hung his head, closing his eyes. This had happened once before. Only then he thought he saw Jortia. "Sidonis, no. You didn't."

"Can you just-… can you just come out here? Please? I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Calm down."

"I'm sorry."

"Where are you?"

He heard Sidonis suck in a breath. "Uh… Kappa… Kappa sector."

What the hell was he doing all the way out there? It was the farthest spot from base you could get without heading back again. "Where at?"

"By… by where the gardens used to be. Archangel, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sidonis. I'll be there." He ended the call and shook his head. Man hadn't had a breakdown like that in months. Anything could have brought it on. Now Garrus had the pleasure of going all the way out there to talk him down from whatever state he was in.

The next recruit needed to be a shrink.

On the balcony at the end of the hall he spied Sensat. The drell sat on the railing, overlooking the grounds with a rifle in his hand and a far off look in his eyes. Garrus whistled and he looked up.

"Did you see Sidonis today? When did he leave?"

Sensat glanced at his omni-tool. "Yeah, this morning."

"Did he take the Hornet?"

"No, he walked."

All the way out to Kappa? Garrus frowned and crossed his arms, then looked back at the drell. "You all right?"

Sensat put on a smile and nodded a little. "Just reminiscing."

"What about?"

The drell's grin broadened slowly, "You sure you want to know that?"

"Not if it'll offend my delicate sensibilities."

Sensat laughed, but the laugh faded quickly. He hesitated before asking, "Are we ever going to go after Aria?"

"I think it's inevitable," Garrus murmured. "Why? You want to do that?"

Sensat shrugged, looking down at his rifle. "I heard you and Sidonis talking. I used to work for her, you know?" He looked back up at the turian, brows pulled together. "This girl and I were partners. Dalia. Aria thought she was feeding information to some Spectre and had her killed."

Garrus leveled a look at him. Sensat had always insisted he was nothing more than a former private security agent. Sidonis was having a panic attack, and Sensat decided to drop this on him now. Terrific. "Does she know you're working for me?"

"It _is_ Aria we're talking about."

"Right…" Garrus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look. Sidonis is having a crisis, I gotta go pick him up. You wanna ride along?"

Sensat shook his head.

"All right, we'll talk when I get back. After the mission brief."

Sensat nodded with a grimace, folding his legs up under him. "Sure."

Garrus wove his way back through the base, heading towards the garage. He poked his head back into the mess, where Butler, Mierin, and Weaver had joined the brothers and Ripper with a new, charged up datapad. Krul was rooting through the fridge, plopping any leftovers onto a large platter. "Hey."

Butler looked up after laughing at the video, "Yeah?"

"Everybody's here?"

"Yeah."

"I gotta go pick up Sidonis. We'll start when I get back."

"Sure, no problem."

Garrus waved while the men turned their attention back to the video, and he left the base to the sound of their laughter.


	26. Chapter 26

Ch. 26

No one was at the site when he first arrived, so he waited. Back when Omega was a little city built within a mine, there was a school here and a little community garden with artificial sunlight. Once upon a time there were turian flowers, asari mushrooms, and salarian ferns, all mixed together in neat little rows. The lamps had long since been turned off, the plants died, the schools abandoned when all the teachers left after the mines ran dry.

Garrus sat for thirty minutes. Then he started calling. It had taken him another half an hour to get all the way out here to begin with, and Sidonis wasn't here. Where was he?

He wasn't answering Garrus' calls, wherever he was. Garrus growled, and started pacing, scanning the area. Sidonis wasn't in a bad enough state to hurt himself, was he?

If this was some kind of trap, he'd never forgive himself.

Ten more minutes. Fifteen. Sidonis still wasn't answering. Damn it. Something was wrong.

He paced up and down another ten minutes, then he called Butler.

No reply.

"Shit."

He couldn't get back to the Hornet fast enough and he had no memory of the thirty minute drive back. The moment he saw the doors to the base blown open and the bullet holes in the walls, time slowed down to a crawl.

Garrus crossed the bridge, looking up at the building, at the balcony where Vortash and Sensat would smoke. Where Melanis and Ripper would have target practice late into the night. "Sidonis?" Everything was so quiet.

At the opposite end of the bridge lay Weaver, a smear of red blood where he had tried to crawl away.

Garrus fell to his knees, checking for a pulse and found none. "No. No no no."

There was an attack. An assault. Garrus could see it happening in his mind. The old man wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. He ran down here and was the first to fall.

Garrus felt like he was underwater. His heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't breathe. He somehow got to his feet again, walking past the bridge, into the building. His hand fumbled for his pistol and it clattered to the floor. He left it behind when he saw Erash at the bottom of the stairs. The batarian's face was gone.

Choking back bile, Garrus gripped the railing to steady himself. "Vortash!"

He spotted Krul next, under the stairs in a bloody heap, face down on the floor. Krul was missing a chunk of his chest. He was dead beside a Blood Pack krogan who was missing one of his arms. Krul couldn't go out without taking someone with him.

Garrus hauled himself up the stairs, suddenly feeling very hot, his hyoid bone spasming in his throat. "Anyone!"

Vortash was at the top of the stairs with another merc body. One of his cigarettes was in his lap and had burned a hole in his pants. Garrus pushed the dead merc aside roughly, his hands going to Vortash's throat, fingers pressing again the scar. No pulse. Dead. His fingers came away bloody.

He felt himself starting to tremble uncontrollably. _Not now. Not now._ He pushed himself back to his feet and kept moving. He stepped over two more dead mercs, moving into the hallway.

He found Butler and Monteague in the bathroom. Butler was on the floor and part of his skull was simply not there, while the doctor was in a stall. Butler was trying to hide him, to protect him. Monteague was still on crutches, which were on the floor beneath his body. Someone put a bullet through Monty's head after killing Butler, and his blood formed a strange butterfly pattern on the tile wall behind him.

The room spun, and Garrus stumbled to the next stall over, heaving over the toilet. Nothing came up.

_Not now. Someone could still be alive. Need your help._

Garrus pushed himself up, knees shaking. He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the hall. The whole place seemed tilted. He walked with his shoulder pressed against the wall.

He found Sensat on the balcony at the far end of the hall, in the same exact spot he had left him. He was bleeding, his back against the balcony railing, webbed hand resting over a sucking chest wound. He was breathing, pale, and dying.

Garrus fell to his knees and seized the drell's shoulders. "Sensat! Sensat! Stay with me."

The young man's gaze was glassy, distant. He took on an annoyed expression when Garrus started hollering at him, trying to push him away.

The turian's talons dug into Sensat's arms, voice cracking, "Sensat, _please_! Stay with me!"

He was too far away, too deep into a happy memory with no desire to be pulled out. He grimaced again at the interruption Garrus was causing, and then smiled faintly when he was fully back inside his mind.

"Sensat... please... please..."

Sensat let out a slow exhale and was gone.

Garrus hung his head and a choking sound escaped him. _Not now_. He slowly released his grip and rocked back onto his rear.

He had more men. Men that could still be alive. He pulled himself to his feet once more, feeling like the gravity had been doubled.

Garrus dragged his feet, following the path of the balcony back around the base to the other side. He passed more dead mercs, tiptoeing around puddles of blood in various colors.

He stepped back inside, and tucked into a corner at the end of a long, green blood trail was Mierin. He was alive, curled up on his side, shaking with shallow breaths.

"Mierin!" Garrus crossed the room in two steps, carefully sitting the pale salarian upright and propping him against the wall. "I've got medi-gel, hang on..."

The salarian grinned a little when his eyes focused on Garrus, "You think... I didn't already try that?"

Garrus shook his head, "You're going to be fine." He unfolded Mierin's skinny arms from around his midsection. Behind the green blood and torn flesh, he could see that the medi-gel would be useless. Garrus closed his eyes and tried to refocus. "Who did this?"

"All of them." Mierin's black eyes closed. "All of them. Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack... all of them."

They had banded together to do this. Had Archangel gone too far? He should have seen this coming, he should have been here to stop it. "Where's Sidonis? Melanis, Ripper?"

Mierin looked past him to the adjoining room. Garrus turned and saw Ripper, dead on the floor. Pieces of Melanis were scattered around him, still wearing Archangel's hand-me-down armor.

"They thought he was you," Mierin whispered. "They killed Ripper… and he put on your armor and attacked. I think he wanted to scare them, you know? They... they tore him apart."

Garrus closed his eyes and looked away, covering his mouth with his palm.

"I told 'em it wasn't you… And that you'd be piiissed." He let out a cough that made him cringe. "This... reeeally hurts."

"Don't ask me to do that," Garrus lifted his head, meeting Mierin's gaze.

Mierin stared back at him, then nodded. "Okay." He let out a pained breath, tipping his head back against the wall.

"Where's Sidonis?"

"I thought he was with you."

Garrus' gaze snapped back at Mierin. "He wasn't here?"

Mierin winced again, wrapping his arms back around his middle. "Nope. Can I lie down now?"

Garrus grimaced, then nodded. "Yeah." He gingerly laid Mierin back on his side, listening to him exhale through a tight throat. "I can... go get some drugs? Make it-... take away some of the pain?"

"No. No." Mierin rested a hand on Garrus' elbow. "S'okay. Stay. Please." He wet his lips, "You're gonna kill those sons of bitches, right?"

The turian slid next to him and sat down, "Right." He shifted the salarian's head onto his leg, a weak attempt to make him more comfortable.

"Blow the shit out of 'em."

"You know I will."

Mierin's scrawny hand closed around Garrus' arm. "Come up with something... really cool for my last words, okay?"

"Mierin..." Garrus looked down at him, throat so tight, chest so heavy he could barely say anything. "I'm sorry."

Mierin's hand patted his arm comfortingly, and then was still. He huffed out a few more labored breaths, closed his eyes, and died.

Garrus began to shake. That was everyone. Sidonis wasn't here, but he was dead. They got him and used him to draw Archangel away. Then they killed him.

Everyone was dead. These were his men. He was supposed to lead them, watch over them, and they were all dead.

He slid away from the dead salarian, settling Mierin's horned head on the floor with care. Garrus tried to get to his feet, but collapsed back to the floor. His strength was gone, entire body numb. He couldn't get up anymore. He crawled out of the room and onto the balcony, to an empty spot with no bodies or gore. He curled up in a ball on the clean floor.

This was his fault. He knew something was off. He _knew_ it. Garrus began to methodically pour over every word Sidonis had said that he could remember, every interaction he had with his men before he left. There were clues, there had to be. He did something wrong. Garrus ran through scenarios. In his mind he sat down on the sofa to play a game with Melanis, as if those few more minutes of delay would be enough. He stopped to watch the video. He caught Sidonis before he left that morning and made him stay. He convinced Sensat to go with him to the meeting place. He took everyone with him, and no one died. He was there for the attack and fought them all off, and no one died.

He couldn't stop shaking. Garrus linked his fingers together at the back of his head and rocked himself. _Stop it. Stop it. You're stronger than this, don't fall apart. They're coming for you next. Get up._

"I can't," he coughed.

_Get up, Vakarian._

He sniffed and wiped his face with both hands. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, but his arms felt like jelly.

_Get up. Keep moving. Do whatever comes next._

Garrus had no idea what came next. He was alone. He was lost. He was as good as dead.


	27. Chapter 27

**Ch. 27**

The asari tried not to be disappointed in the cleaning ladies. But being disappointed over fingerprints on display cases or an uneven bed skirt distracted her from other things.

Honestly, Liara T'Soni was still trying to digest the information she'd gotten from a Cerberus informant. She ended the call and told Nyxeris she was taking the rest of the day off. She'd somehow managed to take a nap back at her apartment, but now woke late into the night, tangled in expensive sheets, particles of dreams still swirling in her head.

Liara propped a pillow up behind her and scooped up a datapad. She scrolled through her messages several times. Information was addictive. She was supposed to be relaxing. It wouldn't be long before a familiar face would be showing up at her office. That was something she needed to mentally and emotionally prepare herself for. But she went right back to work instead.

There was a sudden chirp from her omni-tool, and she glanced at the display. Her brows pulled together. Archangel. Why was he calling her at this hour? She grimaced, linked the omni-tool to the datapad for video, and accepted the call. "You know that off-hours calls cost double, Archangel."

She could see the turian sitting in the dark. His helmet was on, as usual, but something was wrong. He sat hunched, defeated, with his head in his hand. Her gaze flitted over him, then searched for details in the background, finding nothing but blackness.

"Liara."

The asari looked back at him. That was the second time he called her by her first name. This time his voice was raw. "What happened?"

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

Something was very wrong, and Liara felt a strange sudden empathy for the man. "Tell me what happened."

Archangel sucked in a breath as he leaned back in his chair and motioned helplessly with his hands, "They're dead. Everyone is dead. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

His team. What was he up to now, twelve? By the Goddess. Liara blinked a few times, "Archangel. Oh Archangel, I am so sorry…"

"Do I… do I call the morgue?"

She nodded slowly, tapping one of the keys on the datapad. "You could… they have their hands full, however. There seems to be some sort of illness going on there, lots of people dying." She paused. She shouldn't have said that. Liara cleared her throat, "What do you think your men would want you to do?"

"I don't know. I don't know. There's a big patch of dirt out back here, I could bury them…" His hands slipped under the helmet, rubbing his face. "I have to… notify the families, don't I?"

"I can help you with that."

Archangel let out a humorless chuckle, "Standard rates apply?"

"Free of charge."

"So you do still have a heart. Good to know."

_Still?_ Liara's brows quirked. Who was this man?

Archangel sighed, dropping his hands to the keys, typing out the names. "Weaver… has an ex-wife and daughter on the Citadel, I think. Vortash and Erash have another sister, I don't know where."

"I will take care of it."

"Nalah… shit." He shook his head. "Butler. I'll talk to her."

"As you wish." She tilted her head a little, "Is this what you called for?"

She watched him drag a bottle into view, unscrewing the cap, "I called because... I don't know what to do." He lifted the bottle, then seemed to remember he still had the helmet on and put it back down.

Her mouth formed a thin line, "You strike back."

"Obviously."

"Take what time you need to mourn, but you strike back, Archangel."

He laughed again, a sad, empty sound. "You got anything that would help me out with that?"

Liara paused, squinting thoughtfully at a framed set of dog tags on her bedside table. "I have a friend who might be headed your way soon. A friend that can help."

Archangel shook his head, "I'm not recruiting anymore, this is it."

"I'm only saying you should keep an eye out."

He sighed, looking over his shoulder. "They're going to come for me now that I'm alone. I have a box of medi-gel, a box of thermal clips, and a box of stims. Going to make my last stand here. Take as many out with me as I can."

"Archangel… Don't talk like that."

"This is my bank account information," his fingers ran over the keys, and Liara watched a window pop up to an anonymous Illium account. "Whatever families you find, split it up. The nine percent that's mine goes to this charity here, can you do that for me?" She watched the words "Helos Medical Institute" appear on her screen.

Liara frowned, shaking her head, "What about _your_ family, Archangel?" _Who are you?_

The turian hung his head, silent. Finally, he stood and murmured, "They don't need to know. I have to go."

"Archangel," Liara leaned forward, hands gripping the edges of the screen.

The man paused. He sat down again. "Can you do me one more thing?"

"Of course."

"I…" He grimaced, shaking his head, and then tried again. "I can't locate one of my men. Sidonis. Lantar Sidonis."

Liara's head shook a little, but she opened a new window and searched for the name, "I'm not sure I understand."

"He called me away for the slaughter, then never showed up. He's probably dead, but…" He rubbed the back of his neck, "I need to know. Anything in the past… shit. Six hours."

Liara nodded in understanding. Her own immediate thought was not that someone might have found the body, or that someone was bragging over the extranet about the kill, but that Archangel had been betrayed. She'd clearly been working for the Shadow Broker for too long if that was the first thing that came to her mind. It took a moment to search through the records and information. She started with shuttles leaving Omega. Her fingers froze over the keys when she found the name, trying very hard to keep her face a mask.

"What is it?" his voice was already full of dread, as if he wished he didn't ask.

"He left." She looked back at him, voice apologetic. "He left Omega. Five hours ago."

Archangel was still and silent for a long time. He finally asked in a low voice, "Where did he go?"

"He bought a ticket for Invictus, but the cruiser has several stops before its final destination. He could be anywhere. I'll need to do more digging."

Archangel looked away, and Liara could see his fist tightening around the bottle. "You know what?" he said at last, getting to his feet. "Forget everything I said. I'm not dying here. You find him, you tell me where he is when you do, and I'm going to kill him."

"I'll… try."

There was a sudden gunshot in the dark, and Archangel turned to look over his shoulder. "It's starting," he said in a low hard voice.

"Archangel," Liara said, but the screen went black. She fell back onto her comfortable pillows with a frown. She turned off the datapad and flung it onto her desk across the room.

Now she definitely wouldn't be getting any sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Ch. 28**

Archangel buried his men in unmarked graves after the first wave. The first little band of mercenaries had been easy to pick off, charging across the bridge like a bunch of witless idiots. Running right into his scope.

The patch of earth out back had been a courtyard once. In a more civilized era, workers would come out here for lunch in the synthetic sunshine. Garrus stripped down to his trousers and went to work. Pulling out dead saplings and plants, using the back of a chair soldered to a pipe as a shovel. It was grueling work, but he had to finish. Ten man-shaped holes, five across and two down. He used sheets off the cots in the infirmary as burial shrouds. He needed some way to hold Melanis together. That, and he didn't want to see their faces anymore.

Covering them up didn't help, of course. He saw those faces every time he closed his eyes.

It was hours before he was done, and he knew the next attack would be soon.

Telling Nalah Butler that her husband was dead was difficult, to put it mildly. He didn't dare leave his location, and there was no way he was letting her come out to it. So he had to tell her over the phone.

She went silent. "Neil is dead?"

"I'm sorry, Nalah. I wasn't there."

The sound she made next tore a hole right through him. He could hear Ava calling to her in the background, frightened and confused by the wailing coming out of her mother.

He rubbed his face and told her to get off Omega. He apologized again. She wasn't able to form words. He apologized again and hung up and finished making the shovel.

Garrus completed his burials and stood in the shower long after the water ran cold. He stepped out when he heard shouts and taunts, pulled on his armor and went back to the balcony. He didn't leave it again for a long time.

He lost track of the days. Soon the waves of mercs crossing the bridge became a slow steady trickle that was just as easily mowed down under Archangel's rifle. Blue Sun, Eclipse, and Blood Pack armor disappeared, only to be replaced by freelancers. So that was progress.

Eclipse still had those mechs. And it was only a matter of time before Tarak repaired his gunship. He just needed to hold out longer than they could. That was all. Easy.

Garrus was on autopilot. He ate vacuum sealed quarian rations and took a stim whenever he felt his eyelids drooping. He found the frequency the mercs were using and listened in for awhile, and for a few hours his attacks were shamefully easy, flinging grenades into their hiding spots. They eventually caught on, changed the frequency, and he lost them. He took a handful of bullets to various places, upper torso mostly, and by now had gotten used to a dull, throbbing pain throughout his body.

He thought about Sidonis a lot. He hadn't heard back from Liara yet, but he knew that bastard was out there. Garrus shouldn't have been so hard-… no. Sidonis should have been stronger. He was always weak. How long had he been planning to sell them out? The idea that Sidonis would betray them never even entered his mind. And now he was out there somewhere. Walking around carefree while everyone else was dead.

Another trickle of freelancers appeared. Garrus hurriedly chewed and swallowed his tofu, then lined up his shot. Mostly humans. Cheap armor. Stereotypical freelancers. He looked them over casually with his scope, then paused his sights on the breastplate of a human in the back.

That wasn't cheap armor. That was high grade. Expensive, like what Cerberus agents wore.

And there was a symbol over the human's heart.

N7.

Garrus blinked, lowering the gun.

_I have a friend who might be headed your way soon. A friend that can help._

Garrus somehow managed not to break out in hysterical laughter. He grinned behind the helmet and shook his head in disbelief. He lifted the scope to his eye again, studying the familiar face, only now it had a few new scars along the cheek. Of course Shepard was alive. Even death couldn't keep a soldier like that down.

A weight was suddenly lifted from him, and Garrus was filled with renewed energy. And _hope_. Jeez, when was the last time he felt anything remotely close to hope? Garrus was actually going to get out of this mess.

He took out the freelancers with his usual precision, and then took a few cheap shots at Shepard just for old time's sake. He chuckled when Shepard gave him an annoyed look from behind illuminated kinetic shields, and watched as his old friend quickly shot a few freelancers in the back.

Someone was taking too long. Someone was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Garrus couldn't wait to hear the story.

* * *

**That's the end. You know what comes next. Thanks again for sticking along for the wild ride, and I sure hope you enjoyed it. You are what keeps me writing, folks, all your comments and interests. If you haven't yet, check out my other ME Fanfic, "_Same Old Story_," and visit my profile page for updates on what I'm working on. "Thank you thank you thank you" can't even begin to express how much your support means to me.**


End file.
